


Same Old Song

by CMackenzie



Series: Learning to Count on You [13]
Category: Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-07-13 05:53:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 91,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16011641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMackenzie/pseuds/CMackenzie
Summary: Someone from Logan's past needs HIS help and Veronica isn't too happy about it.





	1. Trouble Walkin'

 

  
[](https://imgur.com/a/T8j1OQo)

CHAPTER ONE

Veronica pulled open the front door to reveal a tall, leggy redhead. "Can I help you?"

The woman hesitated, looked at the paper in her hand and then back to Veronica. "No, I don't think you can. I'm sorry, I…" Her face crumpled and her blue eyes glistened with unshed tears. A quick shake of her head and her composure returned. "I must have the wrong house."

"Veronica, do you want—" He froze, jaw slack with surprise.

"Logan?" The redhead rushed past her into the house and threw herself into Logan's arms.

Instead of pushing the strange woman away, Veronica's _husband_ actually pulled her _closer_ , a smile crossing his face. One of the rare smiles- easy and unguarded, imbued with genuine warmth and happiness. His eyes flicked to Veronica and the smile faltered.

"It is you. I was afraid…" Redhead started crying and Logan gently stroked her back, soothing and comforting her. _What the hell was going on?_ "I'm in trouble. I need money fast and you're the…I need two-hundred grand."

He gripped her shoulders and leaned back to see her face. "Whoa, slow down. What kind of trouble requires two-hundred grand?"

Redhead took a deep breath. "It's—" She stopped talking and glanced back at the door. "Did he call you Veronica?"

 _Yes, because it's my name._ She kept the snotty thought to herself and just nodded.

"THE Veronica?" Redhead was staring at Logan waiting for an answer.

He nodded. "I sent you a wedding invitation, but I didn't hear from you."

Stunned was the only way to describe her expression, but then a wide grin split her face. "I knew it! I told you if you stopped being a fuckup she'd come back." She shook her head. "Married? Holy shit, I'm sorry I missed it." Her smile died and the tears started flowing again. "I'm not in Vegas anymore."

 _Pam Mitchell_. Leggy redhead, wedding invitation, and Vegas were all the clues Veronica needed to put together the mystery woman's identity. Turning away from the two of them, she closed the front door and briefly rested her forehead against the jamb. Dealing with her husband's ex who was both in trouble and needed money was a radical change to her afternoon plan. She kissed her nap goodbye and moved away from the door.

Logan wasn't holding her anymore, but his hands were still resting on Pam's shoulders. "When did you leave Vegas?"

Pam's eyes clouded and a slight frown puckered her brow. "Right after I saw you and Carrie in Chicago?" She laid her head on Logan's chest. "God, I'm so glad you're here; I was afraid you'd be deployed."

They made a striking couple. At almost the same height, their bodies fit together; her lush curves molding perfectly to his hard muscular frame. Veronica felt like an interloper.

"I left the Navy."

Dropping her arms from his waist, Pam took a step back and then another. Her gaze moved beyond his shoulder and landed on Veronica, a hostile expression on her face. "Why?"

"Long story." Logan dragged a hand through his hair as he glanced at Veronica and then back to Pam. "Uh… do you want to have lunch with us?"

Not waiting for her answer, Veronica stalked from the room. If she was lucky the baby would sleep for an hour and she wasn't going to spend that time being glared at by Pam. She frowned. It was learning that Logan left the Navy that earned Veronica the nasty look. _What's that about?_

Plates and glasses for two were already set out on the kitchen table along with a spinach salad. She took down another set of dishes and ladled out a generous serving of black bean soup. Logan sidled up behind her, slid his hand under the bowl and lifted it from her hand. "I've got this, you go sit."

Veronica tilted her head back to see him and he kissed her nose. His eyes were troubled and his brow was furrowed with worry lines. _Probably thinks I'm jealous._ To alleviate his fear, she smiled at him before taking her soup back and turning to Pam. "We've got lemonade, juice, or water."

Opening the fridge, she took out the Brita water pitcher for herself and waited on Pam's response.

"Water's fine."

With her hip, Veronica closed the fridge and went to take her seat at the table. Pam lingered in the doorway. She was hugging herself and staring at the floor. Finally, she raised her head and spoke to Logan: "I'm not really hungry."

He dished out a bowl of soup for her anyway. "At least sit down and tell me what's wrong."

Her eyes tracked his progress from the counter to the table and then focused on Wyatt's booster chair. Crossing the room, Pam brushed her fingertips across the green turtle's head. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She swiped her hands over her face. "Boy" —her voice cracked— "Or girl?"

Uneasiness descended over Veronica and she paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth to study Pam. The other woman was watching Logan, waiting for his answer. A grin split his face and his eyes brightened. "A girl. Actually, we have two girls."

His words knocked her back a step and she practically fell into the chair next to him. "I don't… wow, you as a _Dad_? Shit, I'm impressed." A lopsided smile spread over Pam's lips and Veronica relaxed. "You don't waste any time do you?"

"Not when I know what I want." As he spoke, Logan's eyes were locked on Veronica. It was the intense stare that made her want to crawl across the table and do bad things with him. The smug uptick at the corner of his mouth said he knew exactly what she was thinking. She rolled her eyes and he chuckled.

To get her thoughts under control, Veronica filled their water glasses and served the salad. It was made with warm bacon dressing, hard-boiled eggs, and gorgonzola cheese and was her new personal fave. She held out the plate for Pam who shook her head. _Your loss_. "Two hundred thousand dollars," Veronica prompted.

Her husband was used to her bluntness, but Pam was not. She blinked and looked at Logan for rescue. Instead of changing the subject, he asked: "Do you owe it to somebody?"

"No." With an unsteady hand, she picked up her water glass and took a long sip. "When I left Vegas, I rented an apartment in Santa Monica and started waiting tables at a diner."

"Why did you quit the casino?"

Pam fiddled with her glass, dragging a finger up its side to catch the condensation. "It was time for a change."

 _She's lying_. It wasn't outright- more evasion than lying, but there was some piece of information she was withholding. Veronica's general feeling of unease returned. _Maybe I'm being paranoid_. Logan didn't look concerned and he knew Pam better than she did. "Big pay cut," was all he said.

"No shit" —a wry grin— "And the rent was crazy."

"Was? You're not there anymore?"

Veronica was losing patience. She wanted Pam to get to her reason for coming here and why she needed the money. The question _'why Logan'_ almost made it past her lips and she swallowed it down with another spoon of soup. _Come on, Veronica you know the why doesn't matter- Logan's not going to say no._ There was no way her husband would turn down a woman in distress.

"There was this guy." _There always is._ "A customer at the diner and he asked me if I'd ever danced before. I told him about Reno and Vegas and he offered me a job." She didn't make any excuses for her decision and Veronica admired her unabashed attitude. "It was a great deal; I didn't have to pay stage fees or share tips. It was a fifty-fifty split for lap dances though, but I was an employee so," she shrugged.

 _Curiosity engaged._ Veronica sighed and asked, "Stage fees? They make you pay to dance?"

Pam nodded. "Some clubs charge a hundred bucks just for you to work. They take cuts from your tips, make you buy a set amount of drinks during your shift and some places even charge you fines- for being late, chewing gum on stage, not smiling enough."

"Seriously?" Veronica was surprised and a little appalled at the way the clubs were taking advantage of their dancers.

"It's their way of claiming you're an independent contractor instead of an employee. This way they don't have to pay you a minimum wage, or provide disability insurance or workers' comp."

"That's against the law."

Pam grimaced. " _A lot_ of what happens inside some strip clubs is against the law."

Logan was being very quiet. His head was bowed and he was eating his soup like it was his last meal. Veronica rubbed her foot against his leg making him jump. "Cat got your tongue?"

Bailey's crying saved him from having to answer. "I'll get her." He practically sprinted from the kitchen.

Veronica gave him the benefit of the doubt -attributing his eagerness to leave the room because he wanted to quiet Bailey before she woke Wyatt and not a desire to escape a discussion between his wife and his ex about illicit activities inside strip clubs.

"How long has he been out of the Navy?"

"Almost a year." Conversations about strip clubs and money troubles were preferable to this discussion.

Pam was a walking and talking embodiment of the nine years of radio silence. She witnessed Logan's drinking and drug use and sketchy behavior. Helped him through withdrawal, attended his college graduation, and watched him get his wings. Even though Logan let her read his journal, Pam still knew things about her husband that Veronica didn't and it made her uncomfortable.

"How is he?"

_Too many layers to that question._

"Happy." Standing, Veronica carried her dishes to the sink. "Are you sure you don't want anything? Coffee?" Gracious hostess was an easier role to play.

"Coffee works."

Logan chose then to return, asking: "Can you make that two?" Bailey was nestled against his chest wide-awake and sucking on her fingers.

Veronica cupped the baby's head. "Hey, Rabbit. How was your very short nap?" At the sound of Veronica's voice, Bay smiled around her fingers and gurgled. "That good, huh?" Lifting the baby's foot, she kissed her toes. "Did you check on Wy?"

He nodded. "Still sleeping."

"Ah, sleep, I did that once back in the day." She pulled three mugs from the cabinet, set the first cup to brew, and went into the living room to get Bailey's bouncer seat. When she walked back into the kitchen, he was in the process of transferring the baby to Pam.

Her grip tightened on the bouncer and she frowned at the two of them. Their chairs were pushed together, shoulders touching and heads bent over the baby. Bailey was gripping Logan's finger and cooing at Pam.

"She's beautiful, Logan." Pam cuddled the baby closer and brushed her fingers over Bailey's cheek.

Veronica slammed the bouncer seat on the table a little harder than intended and all three of them startled at the sound. "How do you want your coffee, Pam?"

"Black is fine."

Turning her back on them, she concentrated on making the coffee. By the time she carried their mugs to the table, Bay was on the floor in her bouncer trying to catch the stuffed giraffe. She swatted at it and kicked her feet making the seat bounce and her squeal.

After handing them their cups, she got her own and rejoined them at the table. "So are you still dancing at this club?" Veronica sipped her coffee and stared at Pam over the rim. _Time to finish your story and go home._

"Yes and no. Joey-he's the guy who owned the club-started me on the day shift during the week, and then I moved to nights and weekends. After about a year, he made me manager."

 _The upward mobility of stripping._ "You work there, but don't dance."

Pam shook her head. "I still dance —Friday and Saturday nights mostly— plus I fill in for girls who call out sick and we do private parties." Her coffee cup suddenly demanded all her attention. She traced the rim, nudged at the handle, and finally picked it up to take a sip.

It was the mention of private parties that rattled her. Veronica glanced at Logan. In between drinking his coffee, he was making funny faces at the baby trying to make her laugh. She knew he was paying attention to the conversation; yet he wasn't asking any of his own questions. _If I wasn't here would he have just given her the money by now?_ Veronica frowned at the thought. "Did something happen at one of the parties?"

Her eyes widened in surprise at the astute guess. _This ain't my first time at the rodeo, Pam._ "Yes, but… I thought Joey owned Shenanigans so last year when he approached me with a deal, I…" She banged down her mug. "Fuck."

Reaching across the table, Logan placed his hand on hers and gave it a soft squeeze. "It's okay, Red." A fleeting smile at his use of the nickname. "We're going to help you."

 _Thanks for making that decision alone, Echolls._ Veronica stared at their touching hands. "What was the deal?"

Pam followed her gaze to their hands and slid hers off the table, tucking it into her lap.

Logan's head swiveled in Veronica's direction, a frown on his face. Adopting an innocent expression, she gave him a one-shouldered shrug: _beats me what that was about._ His eyes narrowed with suspicion and she turned away.

"Joey knew I was saving money; I make five, six hundred bucks a shift —five shifts a week— plus whatever I earn in the VIP room." She looked away and Veronica wondered what else Pam was doing in the VIP room besides dancing. "I was banking most of it; thought I could open my own club." It was said with a wistful tone like that dream was gone.

"What did Joey—"

Logan cut her off. "Take your time." Her husband was no longer looking at her or the baby, his focus was on Pam's story.

 _Guess he's done with me taking the lead._ Veronica finished her decaf and went to put the mug in the sink. She glanced at the clock. The baby would probably be looking to nurse right around the time Wyatt got up from her nap. If Pam didn't wrap up her story soon, she'd be telling it to just Logan. _Maybe that's what he wants._

"He offered to make me a partner. I gave him what I had for a twenty-five percent stake in the club. What he didn't tell me was that he already _had_ a partner." She planted her face on the table. "God- I'm such a fucking idiot."

Logan rubbed her shoulder. _Does he have to keep touching her?_ Veronica started to load the dishwasher fully aware that she was being catty. Her husband was a very tactile person. Touch was something that was missing from the early part of his life and it was important to him.

Without lifting it from the table, Pam turned her head. "Sam Carlucci is not somebody you want to be partners with."

"I figured that much out all by myself."

Another one of her crooked smiles- the kind that reached her eyes and lit up her face. "Logan Echolls, boy genius."

"Hey now, I'm well past boy."

"Yeah, I remember." She sat up and tilted her mug. "How 'bout you make yourself useful and hook me up with another cup of coffee."

"Pushy bitch."

Pam tossed her head back —sending cascades of auburn curls over her shoulders— and laughed. "Asshole."

Chuckling, Logan got up and fixed her another cup of coffee. "Do you need the money to pay off Sam?"

She immediately sobered. "I wish it was that simple." Reaching for his hand, she gave it a gentle squeeze. "You've made a really good life for yourself here; I'm proud of you, Logan."

"You helped." They stared at each other and once again Veronica felt like she was intruding on something. "Now let me help you. I can write you a check or I can make a call and get cash."

Relief washed over her. "I'll pay you back, I swear."

He waved away her offer. "Don't worry about it."

 _That's it? Have the money and don't worry about it?_ Veronica shut the dishwasher. "Are you being blackmailed?" The two of them turned to stare at her. "What? If she's being blackmailed they're not going to go away because she pays them. In fact, if she pays them this easily, they're going to think they didn't ask for enough and they're going to make a new demand. A new demand for _more_ \- it's never going to stop."

Pam's face crumbled and Logan looked annoyed.

"You know I'm right."

A solemn nod from Pam. "She _is_ right, but it's… it's not blackmail."

"Then there's no problem." The words were for Pam, but Logan's eyes were on Veronica. "Right?"

Now she was mad. "It's your money- do what you want with it."

"I will."

"Good. Glad that's settled." Tugging open the refrigerator, she pulled out a bag of breast milk and poured four ounces in the Mimijumi bottle. Unlike Wyatt, Bailey was not happy if she wasn't actually nursing. Trying to feed her from a bottle was an unpleasant experience at best, but these anatomically correct, very expensive bottles made it at least sufferable. She stuck it in the bottle warmer.

"I don't want to cause any problems for you."

Logan said: "You're not" at the same time Veronica responded with "No problem at all."

Pressing her hands flat on the countertop, she took a few deep breaths. If she tried feeding the baby while she was angry, Bailey would only fuss and cry more.

"Before you decide to help, I think you need to know the rest of the story." Pam held up her hand to keep him from protesting. "Once I bought into the club, Sam came around to introduce himself."

The way she said the word 'introduce' had Veronica's head spinning around to look at her. Pam's composure was a little shaken, but she pushed back her shoulders and plowed ahead with her story. "He started using the club to conduct his business. Sometimes up in front, sometimes in the back office or VIP rooms. Then he started having private parties."

All the color leached from Logan's face and he shook his head. "You don't need to tell me anymore."

The warmer shut off and Veronica plucked the bottle from its warm water bath. She couldn't wait to feed the baby; Bay was already fidgeting in her seat and gnawing on her hand. Veronica scooped her up, sat at the table and got as comfortable as she could in the hard chair.

As soon as she realized it was a bottle, the baby clamped her mouth shut and started rooting around for the breast. "Come on, Bay." She gently tapped the nipple against Bailey's lips until she opened her mouth and started to drink. She leveled Veronica with a baleful stare.

Pam was watching them and her earlier tears returned in earnest. "Last week Sam had a party. It was him and two of his associates, plus three guys I've never seen before. I was there along with four other dancers." She dragged her eyes away from Veronica and the baby and took a large gulp of her coffee.

"It was a drug buy; I think Sam was looking for a new supplier so it was a small deal- five kilos at twenty grand a piece."

 _One hundred thousand dollars cash and one hundred thousand dollars worth of coke- two hundred grand total._ "Did you steal it?"

"Veronica," he barked.

Logan's angry tone made Bailey start to whimper. "Ssh, it's okay Rabbit." She bounced the baby and gently started to rock. "I wasn't accusing her; I was _asking_."

"Maybe you should go feed—"

Veronica cut him off. "I'm not leaving."

Pam's gaze swung between them. "I didn't steal it."

"I know you didn't," Logan reassured her. "But they think you did."

"Boy genius strikes again." This time it was said without any humor. "Both the coke and the money went missing and they think one of us has it." She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. "It's bad, Logan."

She dropped her hands. "They're at the club all the time now; watching us- threatening us. One of the dancers… Karen, she called me, said they came to her house. She was whimpering and talking to herself. They… they _terrorized_ her." Tiny beads of sweat popped out over Pam's upper lip. "She hasn't been at the club and she's not in her apartment. I tried calling her, but her cell phone's disconnected."

"It'll be okay, Pam; you'll give them the money and you'll be fine."

Veronica was shaking her head. "It won't work."

"Aren't you just Little Mary Sunshine today?"

"And you're the King of Wishful Thinking- they're not just going to leave her alone because you ask nicely. They think she stole from them and if she gives them the cash it's as good as _confessing_."

She could see the exact moment the truth of her words hit him by the expression on his face. "Take the money and use it to disappear."

"I can't." Pam slumped in her chair. "If it was just me- maybe, but… I have a son, Logan. They're threatening to hurt my son."


	2. Same Old Song

CHAPTER TWO

"A son?"

The word  _son_  coming from Logan caused Veronica's chest to compress and made it impossible to breathe. There was a loud rushing in her ears, but it wasn't enough to drown out the  _no, no, no_  reverberating around her brain. Her hands shook dislodging the bottle from Bailey's mouth and the baby started to mewl.  _I understand, Rabbit; Mommy wants to cry too_. Veronica popped the bottle back in Bay's mouth and gently rocked, whether to comfort the baby or herself, she wasn't sure.

"His name's Tyler." Pam was no longer slouching in her chair. Her eyes were bright and her features animated as she rushed to tell Logan about her child. "He's  _amazing_. I didn't realize I could love someone so much" —she smiled— "But I'm preaching to the choir, right? You already know how that feels." Pam waved toward Bailey.

Veronica found her voice. "How old is he?"

Pam didn't seem to notice the tremble in her voice, but Logan did. He reached across the table to touch her shoulder and Veronica flinched. Concern filled his eyes and tugged the corners of his mouth into a frown.

"He just turned five. I put him in this great preschool at…"

Pam was still talking, but Veronica was no longer listening; she was too busy trying to do the math in her head and compare the dates to Logan's journal entries. He'd slept with Pam off and on through the years only stopping once he started to date Carrie –five years ago.  _It was possible_. The tension in her body transmitted itself to the baby and Bailey started to bawl.

_Run_. "This isn't working." Veronica slammed the bottle on the table. "I'm going to have to nurse." Standing, she whisked Bailey from the kitchen and hustled down the hall to the sound of Logan calling her name. She locked herself in their bedroom.

Unbuttoning her shirt as she crossed the room, she undid the clasp on the nursing bra and tried to get Bailey to latch. Instead of subsiding, her cries were growing louder and her scrunched face was an angry red. "Ssh, it's okay, it's okay."

The doorknob started to turn. "Veronica."  _Twist, twist, twist_. "Veronica, open the door."

_The crying is going to wake Wyatt_. Abandoning the bedroom, she ducked into the bathroom and kicked the door closed behind her. She turned on the water in the sink, wet one of the baby washcloths and gently stroked it across Bailey's face. Veronica cuddled her close and started to sing the same lullaby she used with Wy when she was a baby. " _Tura lura lura, Tura lura li, Tura lura, lura, hush now don't you cry._ "

Sitting on the toilet lid, she continued to sing and rock as Bailey's cries diminished; moving from deafening wail to loud squall and finally to pathetic bleats. Her little lips quivered as she sucked in gulps of air. "I'm sorry, Rabbit." Veronica wiped Bay's face and readjusted her position so the baby could nurse.  _One crisis over_. She stood, turned off the water, and returned to the bedroom only to come face to face with Logan.

"How did you—"

"Key." He slapped the metal key onto the dresser. In her haste she'd forgotten that all the doors in the house had keys hidden on top of their frames just in case Wyatt ever accidentally locked herself in a room.

Walking past him, she crossed the room and settled into the overstuffed, club chair Logan had purchased for her. It was a comfort rocker with a matching ottoman and it was designed for nursing moms. His constant thoughtfulness made her want to cry and she screwed her eyes shut so she wouldn't have to look at him.

"He's not mine." Logan sat on the ottoman and lifted her legs onto his lap.

"How do you know?"

"Pam told me."

Her eyes snapped open. "Oh, Pam  _told_  you; I feel so much better now." Pulling her legs off his lap, she put her feet on the floor. "Did you even consider that maybe she's  _lying_  to you?"

"I trust Pam."

And he had good reason to, but it didn't mean that  _Veronica_  had to trust her. She frowned. There was a flaw in her logic that she didn't want to examine too closely so she pushed it away. "The last time I helped someone you trusted, it didn't end well."

At her churlish comment, his brows knit in confusion. "Trina wasn't guilt—" He stopped speaking as realization dawned. Standing, he moved away from the chair and her. "But you're not talking about my sister are you? God, Veronica" —he dragged a hand through his hair— "I can't believe you're bringing up  _Mercer_." Logan smirked. "I guess I shouldn't be too surprised though – you're acting just like her."

It was Veronica's turn to be confused. "Her?"

"Old Veronica –  _Hearst_  Veronica."

She blanched. "That's not—"

"Fair? Is that what you were going to say? Well, tell me how this is  _fair_? The way you're acting." He stalked toward the door. "The only reason you know about my relationship with Pam is because I let you read my journal so in essence I confessed something and you're judging me for it – just like old times."

"I'm not judging you, I'm—"

"Semantics," he interrupted, dismissing her objection with a wave of his arm. "Not judging, but you  _are_  holding it against me." Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, he turned back to her. "And for the record, I didn't ask  _you_  to help."

He yanked open the door, hard enough to make it bounce against the wall, and stalked from the room.

Veronica wanted to call him back, to apologize, but she didn't. He wasn't wrong, but he wasn't right either. This wasn't her judging or holding something against him. This was…  _different, dammit_. Bringing up Mercer probably wasn't the best way to get her point across, but Logan was being less than understanding.

She glanced at Bailey. Sleepy and relaxed, she'd stopped suckling and her hands were no longer clenched in tiny fists. Veronica started humming, gently rocking the baby, and stroking her hair.

_He's not mine._ She frowned. Did Pam correctly guess the reason for Veronica's hasty retreat from the kitchen and volunteer the information? Or, worried that Tyler might be his son, did Logan ask? She didn't know why it made a difference to her, but it did and she also knew it wasn't enough. Pam  _telling_  Logan Tyler wasn't his didn't prove anything.

_But if she was going to lie why not say he_ was _Logan's?_  He would be more apt to help her if it was  _his_  child being threatened. Pam could've started with that news and the money would've been guaranteed. Instead she told him the story and withheld the information about Tyler's existence.  _Why?_  Veronica shook her head.

She didn't trust Pam, but she owed her. Without Pam's intervention, Logan wouldn't be here. There would be no Wyatt, no Bailey. It wasn't just Logan's life Pam saved, it was  _this_ life.

Carrying the baby into the nursery, she put her in the crib, and double-checked the monitor. She lingered, leaning over the rails to watch Bailey sleep. Even if she didn't help Pam, there was no way she'd let her leave the house and their lives without knowing for sure the identity of Tyler's father.

After a quick stop at Wyatt's bedroom door to check on the sleeping toddler, Veronica returned to the kitchen. Pam was still at the table nursing her coffee and Logan was on the phone. The moment he saw her, he turned away and crossed the kitchen, giving her a wide berth. "In cash," he said to the person on the phone and Veronica sighed.

She joined Pam at the table. "Tell me about this party. There was Sam and his two goons?" Pam nodded. "And the three guys you'd never seen before- they were the ones selling the coke?"

Instead of answering, she put down her mug and leveled Veronica with an assessing look. "You don't want Logan to give me the money, do you?"

"I don't care about the money." Veronica shrugged. "It's just not going to solve your problem."

"Logan thinks we can find a way to return it without them knowing where it came from."

_Of course he does_. Veronica pressed two fingers against her eyebrow to stop the twitching. "Was the rest of the club empty during this party?"

She shook her head. "The club operates on the first floor —it used to be some fancy estate— and the bedrooms on the second floor are the private VIP rooms."

"As in, more than one?"

"There are four; we were in the largest."

"What about the other three, were they occupied?"

Another head shake from Pam. "The entire second floor was off-limits."

So business as usual on the first floor, but no uninvited guests upstairs- only the six shady guys and the five dancers, including Pam. "How many—"

"The money will be here tomorrow morning." Logan sat heavily in the same chair he'd occupied earlier —the one close to Pam— his body turned away from Veronica. "I still don't like the idea of you and Tyler being alone."

This must be the continuation of the conversation they were having while she was feeding Bailey. Veronica wasn't surprised at Logan's concern, but hearing the easy way he said Tyler's name, pricked at an already tender spot.

"I think the two of you should stay—"

"With Dick," Veronica interrupted, glaring at her husband. "You could move into his beach house, at least temporarily. The neighborhood's patrolled by private security, he's got a great alarm system, and you wouldn't be alone."

"Same beach house?" Pam's question was directed at Logan.

_Riight._ According to his journal, Pam spent a lot of time on the beach with him and Dick in the weeks before Logan left Neptune. Veronica watched Logan, waiting for the answer.  _Was it the same beach house? The place where we conceived Wyatt_.

"No" —he fixed Veronica with a hard stare— "But it's just as small."

She dismissed his claim with a casual, "Plenty of room." Shifting in her chair, she peered into Pam's mug. "More coffee?"

"No… thanks. I think I'm wired enough as it is." She gave the empty cup a forlorn look and then said, "Veronica's right, Logan, giving them the money won't fix things and neither will staying with Dick. I think I should just go."

If he was angry before, now he was downright pissed. The muscle in his jaw was ticking so loudly the inevitable explosion was going to be a showstopper. He turned an accusing eye on Veronica. "What did you do?"

"Stated the obvious." Her usually bright husband was being purposely obtuse. "But I didn't say  _we_  weren't going to help." Veronica was done with his misguided notion that he was doing this alone. She was going to help him and Pam whether he liked it or not. "Where was Joey— that's his name, right? The guy who got you involved in this mess in the first place?"

Pam nodded. "Joey Bianchi."

"Where was he during this drug buy?"

She frowned. "Downstairs I think. He's a permanent fixture at the club." Her lips thinned. "Not so much to run things, but for the girls."

_There's a story there_. Veronica earmarked it for another time and place. Preferably a time and place without Logan present. He was too close to the edge of doing something Logan- _ish_  —read: dangerous— and one more man-behaving-badly story would push him over the line.

"How does he get along with Sam? Are they friends?"

"Not friends." Pam's answer was automatic and decisive. "Whenever Sam's around, Joey suddenly has something to do in the office." She paused, considering, and then continued. "He acts like they're friends though, but there's this undercurrent… to be honest, I think Sam scares the shit out of him."

"When you get your stuff to move to Dick's, I'd like to see your business agreement. The paperwork you signed when you became partners with Joey."

Logan's leg stopped bouncing under the table and he grew still. "What are you thinking?"

"That Joey didn't want a partner- he wanted a patsy."

If Joey owned Shenanigans first and Sam muscled his way into the business, Joey would be stuck- his legitimate business now acting as a front for… well _, shenanigans_. "You said your dancer… Karen?" Pam's nod confirmed the name. "That she hasn't come back to the club and has disappeared?"

"She didn't take the money, Veronica. She's just a kid." Pam's shoulders slumped and her eyes dimmed. "They probably thought she'd be easy to break because she's young."

"If she's not coming back to work, that means you're short a stripper, right?" She had a vague feeling that she'd asked herself this very question — _how naked are you willing to get for a case_ — once or twice before.

Logan was already shaking his head, knowing exactly where she was going with her questions. Her smile was glib.  _You're not the boss of me_.

Pam's gaze swung to Logan and then back to Veronica, eyebrows high on her forehead in surprise. "You want to dance at the club?"

Veronica nodded. "It's the best way for me to meet all the players and find the missing money. Will the" —she waved a hand over her shirt— "lactating be a problem?"

She cocked her head, lips twisting in a jaded smirk. "No, in fact there are some guys who will pay extra for you—"

Logan sliced his hand through the air, preventing Pam from finishing. "Let me get this straight, your  _plan_  is to go undercover as a  _stripper_  in a club run by the  _mob_?"

"I have all the necessary equipment." She plucked at her collar, pulling it from her skin, and peered down the front of her shirt while Logan grew apoplectic. Pushing him further, she said: "And I can dance." Veronica clapped her hands together. "Plus I won't have to pay stage fees or share my tips."

A deep angry flush spread up the nape of his neck, making Veronica almost regret using her pep-squad perky voice –  _almost_.

"Daddy! Potty!" Tiny bare feet thudded against the hardwood. Wyatt was done with diapers and the baby gate across her door, but she refused to go into the bathroom alone. Middle of the day or middle of the night, it didn't matter, she wanted company for wiping and hand washing and Logan was usually her first choice. "Daddeee!"

He slowly got up from his chair, giving himself a minute to cool down before going to help their daughter. Veronica would have volunteered to go instead, but that would only result in a Wyatt mini-meltdown.

Wyatt was doing okay with the events of last spring —she wasn't afraid of the pool and her bad dreams were few— but anytime something unnerved her, like going to the bathroom alone, she wanted Daddy by her side. Even though he didn't specialize in children, Logan had taken Wyatt for a few sessions with Dr. Feelgood just to make sure she was coping. His pronouncement that she was a well-adjusted, intelligent, and happy child only made Logan quip,  _'are you sure she's ours?'_

With a slight hesitation and a backward glance at the tableau of his wife and ex sitting at the kitchen table, Logan left the room. "I'm coming Jellybean."

"Where Wabbit?"

Veronica smiled at the question. Wyatt was enamored with her baby sister, always needing to know where she was so she could bestow tiny nose kisses and provide her with endless chatter.

She turned to Pam. "Where's Ty" —Veronica changed the question— "Where's your son now?"

"At the motel with my friend Reina." She looked at the oversized wall clock hanging next to the window. "I really should get back soon."

Veronica nodded in agreement. "Logan can have Dick help you move." Focusing on the table, she swept up imaginary crumbs. Keeping her tone casual, she asked: "So why preschool and not kindergarten?"

"You know, maybe I will take another cup of coffee." Pam edged her cup closer to Veronica. "Do you mind?"

By way of an answer, Veronica stood with the cup and crossed to the machine to brew more coffee – a cup of regular for Pam and decaf for herself. While the Keurig did its thing, she did hers, leaning against the counter and readying her next question. "What made you decide to move to California?"

"I like it here."

It wasn't that she was expecting Pam to suddenly confess — _I moved here so Tyler could be closer to Logan_ — but she was being cagey and it was setting off alarm bells in Veronica's head.  _Bells? More like sirens_. "Was Tyler born here?"

"No."

_Vegas it is then_. Veronica carried the mugs back to the table. "When can I start dancing at the club?"

Pam blinked; the change of topic momentarily threw her. To cover, she picked up her coffee and took a sip. "You're going to need a song and a routine."

"I'll rent Striptease," Veronica murmured into her cup.

The other woman frowned. "Most of the women working at the club have been dancing for years. You're going to have to be  _good_  and… you'll need to audition for Joey." She leaned back in the chair. "If you're really serious about doing this, I can help you."

"Cookies!" Wyatt raced into the kitchen shouting the word like it was a war cry. Spotting Pam, she came to a sudden halt and craned her neck to look for Logan. Only a few steps behind her, he appeared before Wyatt decided to flee.

Another lasting effect from her encounter with Gina – strangers, especially women, made Wyatt uneasy. She wrapped an arm around Logan's leg and rested her head on his thigh. His presence made her bold enough to ask, "Who you?"

"This is Daddy's friend Pam," Veronica supplied.

Her face scrunched while she considered the information and then she tilted her head back to look at Logan as if for confirmation. He scooped her up, carrying her closer. "Pam this is Wyatt."

Pam's lips twitched in amusement. "Hi Wyatt," she said, standing so they were at eye-level. "It's nice to meet you."

Wyatt stared at her for a beat and then started squirming to get down. Logan put her on the floor and she made a beeline for Veronica, scrambling onto her lap. Now at a safe distance, she gave Pam a tentative smile, and a backward wave.

Pam returned the wave and then bumped shoulders with Logan. "Only you would name your daughter, Wyatt." She laughed. "Is her middle name Freedom?"

Logan grinned. "Sadly, no, but maybe for the next one."

"I'm surprised Bailey wasn't Billy."

"This close," he answered, holding his thumb and forefinger a breath apart.

Pam's smile widened and she tossed her arms around him in an impulsive hug. "You're such a jack—" She bit off the end of the word with a quick glance at Wyatt. "I won't say it, but know that you are one."

"Aw, I missed you too." Logan draped an arm across her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze.

The more time they spent together, the more relaxed and comfortable they seemed to be in each other's company.  _Give it another hour and she'll be sitting in his lap, whispering in his ear_. Veronica abruptly stood, scratching her chair against the floor. "Do you want to have your milk and cookies at your table, sweet pea?"

"Cookies!" Wyatt clapped her hands together.

Putting her on the floor, Veronica turned toward the pantry. "Go on inside and I'll bring them to you."

She started skipping for the living room, stopped to look at Pam, and offered her a quick —"Bye-bye" — before continuing inside without waiting for a response.

"She's beautiful." Pam elbowed his side. "What's that saying? Daughters are God's revenge on fathers for the kind of men they were when they were young?"

Logan shook his head. "Well then I'm fucked."

"Probably," she agreed with a grin and then her expression sobered and she glanced at the clock again. "I really need to get back to Tyler. Do you need to call Dick and ask him if it's okay?"

"I'll call him from the car."

Veronica whirled around, milk sloshing from the uncapped sippy cup. "Car? Where are you going?"

"To help Pam move and meet Tyler."


	3. Hey, Jealousy

CHAPTER THREE

Logan hadn't even given her a chance to argue. He'd grabbed his keys off the counter, strolled into the living room to kiss Wyatt goodbye, and sailed out the front door with Pam. To her credit, Pam had seemed unhappy with his icy attitude, frowning at him and glancing at Veronica in silent apology. On their way from the house, as a conciliatory gesture, Pam had offered to come by tomorrow to work on a dance routine.

Too focused on being mad at Logan, Veronica had given her an absent-minded nod.  _Six hours ago_. The steady ticking of the hall clock marked each minute of those hours; a metronome keeping time with the increasing tempo of her anger.

She'd carried on with their Sunday plans —board games in a tent fort, making pizza for dinner, and movie time in the big bed— but Wyatt kept asking,  _'where Daddy?'_  and Bailey was extra fussy, refusing the bottle and wanting to be held. It made bath time impossible for Wyatt and a shower for Mommy out of the question. Two kids was  _not_  double the work- it was triple, squared by infinity, especially with no help.  _I miss sleep and sex and bathing_.

Veronica slumped against the headboard and closed her eyes. Wyatt was snuggled against her side, trying to stay awake for her one millionth viewing of  _Finding Nemo_ and –if the soft snoring was any indication– failing.

Sighing, Veronica gingerly extracted herself from the bed. While Wyatt was sleeping and Bailey was content, there were things she needed to do. Leaving the bedroom door open, she crossed the house to her office. "Okay Rabbit, Mommy has work to do." She transferred the baby to her cradle swing, turned it on, and started the mobile.

Veronica picked up the phone and called Mac who answered on the second ring. "Am I interrupting any extra-curricular activities?"

"Not at the present moment… or at any moment in recent memory."

"How fast do you think you could access birth records for the state of Nevada?" Veronica tapped the mouse, waking up her computer, and Googled: vital records Las Vegas. "The office of vital records is in Carson City."

"Is this a hypothetical how fast or—"

"I need a birth certificate."

There was a long pause. "This must be pretty important to interrupt Echolls family time… it is Sunday, right?"

Sundays were sacrosanct. With Logan's new job and her crazy hours, this was their rule. At least it  _had_  been the rule until the leggy redhead arrived.

Veronica's continued silence resulted in a sigh from Mac- one of the long-suffering kind."Okay Veronica, who am I looking for?"

"Tyler—" He wouldn't have Logan's last name. Logan wouldn't even  _be_  on the birth certificate, not having signed a paternity declaration, but that didn't mean Tyler's last name was the same as Pam's. Veronica shrugged, she had to start somewhere. "Mitchell, Tyler Mitchell; mother Pam… Pamela Mitchell."

The sound of tapping keys traveled through the phone. "Date of birth?"

"I don't have one, but it was five years ago."  _Not kindergarten, but preschool_. Unless he was redshirted, his birthday probably missed the September first cutoff. "Try birthdays in September and October."

"Anything else?"

"I also need all the information you can find on Shenanigans." Veronica pulled up the strip club's website and gave Mac the address. "They're marketing themselves as an upscale gentlemen's club."

"Is this a new paternity case?"

Veronica hesitated. "It's complicated."  _That's an understatement_. "I've got something to do in the morning, but I'll be in by lunch- is that enough time?"

"For mere mortals maybe, I'll have this done before I finish my morning latte."

"Thanks, Mac."

"Veronica, are you okay? You seem…"

"Just distracted. I've still got a few calls to make. I'll see you tomorrow." She disconnected the call before Mac could make further inquiries as to her mental state. Because, right now, her mental state was precarious.

What she wanted was to focus on the case —finding who stole the cash and drugs, keeping Pam and Tyler safe— but her mind kept straying to the personal.  _If he is Logan's son, how will it change things?_  Logan would never walk away from his child. Not that she'd want him to. A man who would abandon his own kid was not the man she knew and loved.

Tyler would be a permanent part of their lives. She glanced at the baby. Wyatt and Bailey would have a brother and Logan would have a son. The three people she loved most in this world would be related to a little boy who was no part of Veronica.

Logan would share a child with another woman. He would make decisions  _with Pam_  about their son and Veronica would be on the outside. Family trips, holidays, future plans would all need to include this other family. Logan's heart would be split between two homes.

Pushing aside the troubling thoughts, she grabbed a notebook and a pen.  _Concentrate on the case, Veronica_. She wrote the names Joey Bianchi and Sam Carlucci on the page and then stared at the rest of the blank sheet.  _I should've had Mac do background checks on them_.

Actually, there were a lot of things she  _should_ have done and didn't. She hadn't gotten the names of Sam's two henchmen. She didn't get the names of the other dancers. No last name for Karen or if Pam knew her current whereabouts. Even Veronica's plan of dancing at the club was only half-formed.

So what if she found the stolen money and drugs? What then? Turning the guilty party over to Sam might save Pam  _this time_ , but it didn't get her out from under his thumb. And Veronica didn't have to guess what would happen to the actual thief when she outed him.  _I'll take 'accessory to murder' for a thousand, Alex_.

She tossed the pen down and picked up the phone. Unlike Mac's phone number, she didn't have this one memorized. She flipped to the M section of her rolodex, located McCormack, and dialed.

"You haven't been arrested since my caller ID says you're home so… what did Logan  _allegedly_  do this time?"

"He's still walking the straight and narrow."

"Too bad, I'm in the market for a new car," he drawled. "And my retirement fund is running low."

"You're never going to retire."

"Not if my best paying client refuses to break the law. Are you sure I can't interest him in a little B&E? Or maybe some petty vandalism?"

"You know, Cliffy, I think the penal code frowns on encouraging others to commit crimes. The words 'criminally complicit' ring any bells?"

"Oh you and your fancy law degree." There was a bit of pride beneath his gentle mocking tone, which made Veronica smile. "Well, since it's not my  _Criminal Law for Dummies_  education you're interested in- how can Uncle Cliffy help you?"

"Have any idea where Loretta Cancun is these days?"

"Retired. They certainly don't tell you on career day that exotic dancers make more money than lawyers."

"Is she still in the area?"

"In a house on the beach." There was some shuffling of papers. "I know, I know you want her address. Hold on."

While he was looking for the address, Veronica leaned over and turned off the cradle swing. The motion was good for soothing Bailey, but once she was asleep, the same motion could just as easily wake her. The baby took the description  _light sleeper_  to entirely new levels.

Cliff returned to the phone and Veronica copied down the address he gave. It wasn't on the 09er section of beach, but still a nice area. "Guess they make more than private investigators too," she muttered before thanking him and ending the call.

Pam could help her look like an experienced stripper, but she wouldn't be able to explain how Veronica got that experience. If she was going undercover in a club partially owned by the mob, her background story needed to be flawless.

Thanks to the gentrification of the neighborhood, The Seventh Veil had been out of business for years. It was the perfect place for Veronica to use as previous employment, especially with a personal reference from Loretta Cancun.

Using the address Cliff gave her, Veronica did a reverse directory search, and located Loretta's phone number. She'd call her tomorrow and explain what she needed, but first there were blanket forts to disassemble and the dishes weren't going to do themselves.  _Unfortunately_.

Moving Bailey required more skill and steadier hands than bomb defusing. This was usually Logan's job, transferring their daughter from wherever she finally fell asleep –car seat, cradle swing, the top of the washing machine- to the comfort of her bassinet.  _Desperate times, desperate measures_.

She maneuvered her from the swing and held her steady, waiting for the explosion. When Bailey remained quiet, Veronica tiptoed down the hall, and carefully placed her in the co-sleeper. Wyatt was sprawled across Logan's side of the bed, his pillows on the floor, and the blankets a tangled mess. Veronica covered her with the sheet and kissed her forehead.

Closing the bedroom door behind her, she debated – dishes or forts. She decided the fort was the easier of the two and left the dishes for Logan. Pulling down the blankets, she tossed them on the couch and then carried the chairs back into the dining room.

The sound of the key in the front door was followed by the quiet beeping of the alarm pad as Logan entered the code. Veronica tossed the pillows back on the couch and picked up a blanket, refusing to look in his direction. "Oh so you do remember where you live."

"Do I? Still live here, I mean." He lounged in the doorway. "I expected my stuff to be on the front lawn."

"The night is still young." She snapped the blanket and folded it in half. "Were you with Pam this entire time?"

Logan pushed off the wall and moved deeper into the room. "Are we about to replay all our greatest hits? A Matter of Trust; Hey, Jealousy—"

"Runaway," Veronica interrupted. "Oh wait, that's usually me, right? Guess you stole my part."

Logan shrugged. "You're the one who wanted Pam to stay with Dick."

"That's right because  _I'm_  the one who's thinking about the safety of  _our_  children." Logan blanched at the implied accusation. "And I'm not jealous," she muttered.

His attempt to reduce this to mere jealousy irritated her and her indignation rose with the lift of his skeptical eyebrow. "You do this" —she threw the blanket at his stupid, smug face— "I'm going to shower and go to bed."

Clenching her fists at her side, she turned on her heel, and stormed from the room. Not wanting to wake the girls, she grabbed clean clothes from the laundry room, and escaped to the quiet of the hall bath. It wasn't exactly their luxury steam shower with massaging jets, but it was hot and she was alone.

Veronica pressed her forehead against the tile wall.  _If you're going to lie, at least don't lie to yourself_. She  _was_  jealous. Not over Pam or their past relationship. Veronica wasn't insecure. She knew that Logan loved her and their life together. Pam wasn't a threat.

She was jealous at the idea of having to share him with Pam and Tyler. Of being excluded from a very important part of his life. Jealous that her role as the mother of his children wouldn't be solely hers anymore.

Turning off the water, she pulled a towel from the rod, and wrapped it around herself before stepping out of the tub. Logan was sitting on the closed toilet lid, waiting for her. "A locked door is not an invitation to enter," she snapped.

"We need to talk about this."

"Yeah, maybe eight hours ago, but now? Not so much." Veronica stared him down, willing him to leave, but he didn't budge.  _Stubborn jackass_. She dried off and pulled on a pair of pajama shorts and a t-shirt.

He watched her; his somber gaze steady and unblinking. Weariness pulled at the corners of his mouth and weighed down his shoulders. His entire body seemed to be saying,  _I can't believe we're back to this place in our relationship_.

Veronica softened. "You need to call Pam and tell her not to bring Tyler to school tomorrow." Jealous or not, Logan's son or not, he was still a child and the school wasn't safe.

Nodding, he said, "I told her to keep him home for a few days."

_See, they're already making decisions together_. For something to do, she picked up a brush and yanked it through her wet hair. Logan came up behind her. His fingers closed over the brush, taking it from her hand and starting to comb, gently removing the tangles. "Are you really going to dance at Shenanigans?"

Tilting her head, Veronica watched him in the mirror. "Why? Think I lack the  _assets_  to be a successful stripper?"

He went completely still, sensing possible danger, then he crooked his finger in her collar, pulling it forward and leering down her shirt. "I love your assets, but they are intended for private home viewing only. Any public performance is strictly prohibited and may constitute a felony."

"You think you're cute, don't you?" She leaned against him and he slipped his arms around her waist.

"Mmm-hmm, and you do too."

"Maybe" —she turned to face him— "but I'm still mad."

"I know." Logan kissed her nose. "So am I, but I don't want to fight with you anymore tonight. Can we just ring the bell and commence round two in the morning?"

"Then we should stop talking."

"And do?" He put his hands together in prayer. "Please say each other."

"You're not that lucky." Veronica shoved his shoulder. "Besides the girls are in our room."

"I seem to recall us really liking sink counters." He patted the marble and waggled his eyebrows.

"You're not that cute," she grumbled.

"Oh, but I am." Effortlessly, he lifted her onto the counter and settled himself between her thighs. His kiss was rough and Veronica responded in kind, biting at his bottom lip and digging her nails into his arms. Logan growled into her mouth, pressing into her and spreading her legs wider.

Veronica clutched at his hair and jerked his head back. "I'm still" —she pulled him down for a hard, fast kiss— "mad." She slithered off the counter, ducked beneath his arm, and scooted away. "And you're delusional."

A cocky grin. "Bedroom it is then." He stalked her across the room. "It's time for Bailey to start liking her crib in her own room."

Holding up a hand to halt his progress, Veronica shook her head. "Not tonight. I want them in the room with us."

Her worry instantly doused his attempt at playful seduction. "Is something wrong? Did something happen?"

"No, it's just…" She shrugged. It wasn't something she could easily explain to him.

Despite appearances to the contrary, she wasn't exactly unscathed by Gina's attempt to drown Wyatt. It wasn't the shooting. Veronica had no regrets about killing Gina. Given the same set of circumstances —someone threatening the lives of her family— Veronica would pull the trigger again and not think twice. It was the feeling that she'd invited that danger into their home that she couldn't shake.

Opening the door for Pam had left her with the same disquiet.

"Did you make sure you weren't followed from the motel to Dick's house?"

Logan nodded. "We went to the restaurant first, left through the kitchen, and switched to Dick's car." He cradled her hips between his palms. "I was very careful."

"And you told Pam to vary her routes and to not go straight home at the end of her shift?" There wasn't much they could do about Pam's safety. She still needed to go to the club where anything could happen to her, but they could keep Tyler safe.

"I did. I also told her that, if she thought she was being followed, to stop at the Sheriff's Department and see Norris."

"That's good," she murmured, laying her head on his chest. She fell silent, listening to the reassuring thump of his heart, and then she said, "I shouldn't have brought up Mercer."

"No," he agreed. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he held her tighter, and rested his cheek on the top of her head. "I'd like to think I'm a better judge of character now than when I was nineteen."

He was, but he was still fiercely loyal and not everyone deserved his faith. Veronica kept that thought to herself. They were playing a game of verbal Jenga and one wrong word would topple their temporary truce. "So what's Tyler like?"

_Does he look like you? Does he have your sarcastic smirk and warm brown eyes?_

Eyes that were now wary and cautious as he let his arms fall from her waist and took a step back. He studied her face, trying to determine if this was a trap. Finally, he shrugged. "He likes dinosaurs, thought our entire adventure was cool, and seemed super impressed that I could fly a plane."

She looked away.  _Tyler was probably not the best subject to choose_.

"He's not mine, Veronica."

"Oh? Did you stop and get a paternity test in between the restaurant and Dick's house? Is that why you were gone all day?"  _Wrong block_. Regretfully, Veronica watched the metaphorical wood tower collapse.

Frustrated, Logan dragged a hand through his hair. "Are we doing this again?"

"Yes and we're going to keep doing it until I have a little thing I like to call  _proof_."

He started to pace. The bathroom was too small for his restlessness, like the tiny lion cages at the circus. "If the baby was mine, Pam would've told me she was pregnant."

"Maybe that's why she went to see you in Chicago —to tell you about Tyler— but then you were with Carrie and she didn't want to ruin your relationship."

Stopping mid-stride, he spun around to face her. "Then why would she lie to me now?"

"Uh, hello – you and me, married? Did you think that maybe she doesn't want to cause problems for us and our family?"

"Too late," he muttered. Logan took a deep, calming breath. "Pam wouldn't lie to me; I trust her."

_Everybody lies_. "Well, I don't," she said flatly.

"And what about me, Veronica- do you trust me?"

"You shouldn't even have to ask me that."

"No, I shouldn't and yet, here I am, questioning whether my  _wife_  trusts me."

Logan doubting her trust in him stung. Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked them away. "Fuck you." She wrenched open the door and his arm shot out to push it closed. He leaned his weight on his palm, keeping the door shut and trapping her in the bathroom.

"You know, I get why I'm angry, but what exactly has you so pissed?"

A deafening wail from Bailey kept Veronica from having to answer. The volume of her cries meant she'd been startled from her sleep.  _Probably the slamming door_. Veronica glared at Logan's hand as he let it fall to the knob, opening the door and rushing for their room. He reached Bailey first, scooping her up and whisking her out of the bedroom before she could completely wake Wyatt.

Veronica leaned in the doorway, waiting to make sure. Wyatt stopped rubbing her eyes, puffed out her cheeks and loudly exhaled, but she didn't say anything. Veronica gave it another minute, watching until Wyatt was still and her breathing deep and even. She closed the door and followed Logan into the kitchen.

Bailey was cradled against his chest. His rocking and bouncing were having little effect on her inconsolable mewling. She kicked her legs, fidgeting in his arms. "Let me," Veronica said as she lifted the baby from his arms. "She's been fussy all day."

She placed Bailey stomach-down along her forearm, cradling the baby's cheek in her palm and bounced her up and down while patting her back.

"Do you want me to make her a bottle?"

Veronica shook her head. "She won't take it. When she calms down, I'll try nursing, and hopefully she'll fall asleep." Carrying the baby into the living room, she sat in the rocking chair, and closed her eyes.

_But what exactly has you so pissed?_

She was angry that Tyler's paternity was occupying all her thoughts. Mad that Logan was so quick to help Pam without even discussing it first. And she was thoroughly pissed that he walked out on her.

Veronica turned Bailey and snuggled her close. "I'm scared, Rabbit," she murmured against the top of the baby's head. Not just because this could be dangerous and it involved her family-  _again_. But that things would change. That this life they'd worked so hard to build would be forever altered.

Logan came in holding a glass of ice water and her Boppy nursing pillow. He set the glass on the table next to her in easy reach and then picked up Bailey so Veronica could get comfortable. "Mommy said you were fussy." Contradicting the claim, the baby gurgled at him and smiled. "We've talked about this before and clearly you're not listening" —he smirked— "Just like all the other women in the house."

"You let us know when you have something useful to say and we'll pay attention," Veronica said as she held out her arms for Bailey.

He kissed Bay's nose, passed her to Veronica, and then collapsed into the chair next to them. His knee started bouncing as he picked at the upholstered piping on the arm of the chair. "I'm sorry I missed the blanket forts and pizza."

She nodded. "Was Dick okay with Pam staying there?"

"The person who taught him how to make cannabis oil in a slow cooker? He was fine with it." He tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Are you worried that Pam and I will—"

"No," she cut him off. "I  _do_  trust you, Logan."

At her answer, his leg bouncing ceased and his shoulders relaxed. He lowered his head to look at her. "I love you, Veronica."

"I know." She tilted Bailey's head back and helped her latch. "Did Pam say what time she'll be here tomorrow morning?"

"Nine." He frowned. "What exactly is your plan?"

Veronica shrugged, dislodging Bailey who mewled in protest. She readjusted the baby. "I'm going to find the missing cash and coke and then hope that Sam concludes his drug deal."  _Or commits some other nefarious act I can have him arrested for_.

"If you're really going to work at the club, I am too." Her head whipped around to stare at him. His lips were pressed in a thin, tight line of determination. "Pam says they can use another bouncer."


	4. The Times They Are A Changin'

CHAPTER FOUR

The idea of Logan going undercover with her was unacceptable, but she was too tired to go another round with him last night. Bailey had fallen asleep and Veronica didn't want to miss her window to do the same. She'd put a pin in their discussion and went to bed, convinced she'd be able to talk him out of his new career as bouncer in the morning.

_Never underestimate the stubbornness that is Logan Echolls._

"You're not exactly unrecognizable."

"You think anyone's going to notice me with all the—" He eyed Wyatt who was staring at him while eating her bananas and Cheerios.

Even though they were engaged in what they called 'polite fighting'—no raised voices, only even tones, and a curtailment on the sarcasm— Wyatt still knew something wasn't right between Mommy and Daddy. Her mood was subdued and her brow was scrunched with worry lines.

Logan smoothed his fingers over her tiny forehead and kissed her nose. "Can Daddy have a banana?"

She held out one of the slices for him. He ate the banana and then pretended to gobble her fingers, making her giggle.

"Wabbit too." Wyatt pointed toward her sister and Logan obliged, nibbling on Bailey's fingers and making  _om nom nom_  noises like Cookie Monster.

Veronica smiled. He was always so willing to be silly and goofy with the girls. It was hard to stay mad with Daddy Logan. She crossed to his chair, rested her hand on the nape of his neck, and toyed with the edges of his hair.

His head jerked up, surprised by the affectionate moment. Leaning over, she kissed him –  _a peace offering_. With her lips still pressed to his, she said, "You're going to be late for work."

Logan pulled her down onto his lap. "Called them while you were feeding Bailey, told them I'd be in this afternoon."

She arched a brow–  _afraid to leave me alone with Pam?_  Logan kissed the raised brow before picking up his coffee and taking a sip. With a sigh, Veronica laid her head on his shoulder. "Did you also call Dottie and tell her not to come until later?"

"I did and I asked if she'd watch Tyler."

Veronica tensed.  _He was arranging day care now? Would Tyler start calling her Nana Dot, too? Right after he started calling Logan_ —

Logan gently rubbed her arm and kissed her shoulder, pulling Veronica from her dark thoughts. "I didn't think you'd want to have your dance lessons in front of the kids."

"Me dance!" Wyatt shouted and then frowned, chewing the tip of her finger. "I dance?" She was learning her pronouns and it made Veronica a little sad, knowing that the  _'me do'_  would eventually disappear.

"We can have a dance party  _after_  you finish your banana," Logan said, tapping the edge of her plate.

She scooped up the three remaining pieces and shoved them in her mouth. "Cuddles dance," she said around the mouthful of fruit, spitting a bit of banana onto the table. Sliding from her chair, she raced from the room to collect her bunny.

Shaking her head, Veronica stood. "See what you started."

She picked up Wyatt's bowl of Cheerios. Most of the cereal was gone and all that remained was a small amount of milk. Veronica drank it on her way to the sink.  _That counts as breakfast right? Finishing your kid's leftovers?_  She returned with a sponge and wiped the table.

The doorbell rang. Logan put down his cup, shot Veronica a warning look that clearly said  _play nice_ , and went to answer the door.

"Hiya, Logan." It was the high-pitched greeting of an overly excited child.

"Hey Ty- I see somebody's ready to go swimming."

"It's your fault for mentioning the pool; it's all he could talk about last night  _and_  this morning  _and_  during the car ride over –  _I'm gonna go swimming with Logan, he flies planes_." Pam chuckled. "Apparently, that's your full name, Logan-he-flies-planes."

Veronica wandered into the living room for the tail-end of Pam's comment. Tyler was standing between them wearing a pair of boardshorts in varying shades of blue horizontal stripes. He did look ready for the pool.  _Or a day of surfing with his dad_. Veronica quashed the thought. "Good morning," she choked out the greeting.

"Ty this is my wife, Veronica."

"Hiya V'ronica." He stared up at Logan. "She's the cop, right?"

"Private investigator," Logan corrected at the same time Pam did.

"Cool." He tugged at the hem of his matching blue tee shirt. "Can we go swimming now?" His gaze moved from Logan to Pam and then back to Logan.

_Brown hair, brown eyes_. Veronica noted the similarities, acknowledging they didn't tell her a damn thing. Brown was the second-most popular hair color in the world and over fifty percent of the population had brown eyes.

He was tall, reaching Logan's waist, but so was Pam so that didn't mean anything. Veronica tried to study him while trying to look like she was  _not_  studying him. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, restless and impatient. The comparison to Logan came naturally, but realistically it was just a condition of being a five-year-old boy who wanted to go swimming.

Veronica didn't know what she was expecting to find. Did she want to find something she could point to and say,  _'Aha! I was right; you ARE the father'_  or was she hoping for conclusive evidence that they were unrelated.

"Dance!" Wyatt careened into the room, carrying Cuddles and her pink Fisher Price music player.

It was easy to see why it had taken her so long to join them. She'd donned a pink tutu with matching feather boa, and a plastic tiara was sliding off her head. Another boa trailed behind her —presumably for Logan— and a yellow tutu was wrapped around her stuffed bunny.  _Fancy party attire_.

When she saw Pam and Tyler, she dropped everything at Logan's feet and ducked behind his legs. She wrapped her hands around his knees and peered around the side of his thigh.

Logan touched the top of her head. "Do you remember Pam from yesterday?" Her slow nod knocked the tiara the rest of the way off and it clattered to the floor. She didn't even glance at it. "This is her son Tyler; he wants to go swimming with us."

"No." Wyatt let go of Logan's legs and folded her arms across her chest, her lips puffing into a pout.  _Guess I'm not the one who needed the reminder to play nice_.

"Well, you can stand there and pout, or you can come swimming, but Tyler and I are going in the pool."

Her head snapped back with a horrified expression on her face – eyes wide, forehead pinched, and her lips quivering. She slipped in front of Logan, blocking him from Tyler. " _My_  Daddy."

Holding his hands out at his sides, Logan offered Pam a slight shrug as if to say,  _I have no clue_. Veronica held back an eye-roll and stepped forward. "Why don't we go out to the pool and give them a minute alone?"

"Great idea." Pam's relief was palatable. "Come on, Ty."

They followed Veronica to the French doors leading to the deck and she flung them open. "I'll be out in a sec; I just want to get Bailey."

Pam and Tyler headed outside and Veronica detoured into the kitchen to get the baby. She'd fallen asleep in her bouncer. Not wanting to risk waking her, Veronica snapped up the handle of the seat and carried the entire thing outside. She paused on the deck, glancing back in the house to check on Logan and Wyatt.

Their daughter was crying. Veronica didn't know if she was unhappy just because her plans of having a dance party were thwarted or if she didn't like the idea of sharing Logan, especially for pool time. The pool was their special daddy-daughter time.

Either way, Logan pleading cluelessness was laughable. He knew Wyatt was extra clingy when it came to him. His telling her he was going to leave her to play with some other kid  _in the pool_  would definitely lead to hysterics.

Tyler was already in the water, swimming across the deep end. Pam had kicked off her shoes and rolled up her pants, letting her feet dangle over the edge of the pool. Veronica put the carrier in the shade and joined Pam. She opened her mouth to apologize for Wyatt's outburst and then changed her mind. "They shouldn't be long and then we can get going."

Pam nodded and then said, "What has Logan told you about me?"

_Nothing_. Technically it was the truth. They didn't have discussions about Pam. She'd come up once or twice in conversation —when he was giving his reasons for leaving the Navy, deciding on the guest list for the wedding— but they'd never talked about his relationship with her. The only reason Veronica knew the details was from reading his journal.

She hedged. "I know you saved his life."

A sardonic smile flitted across Pam's face. "And he was none too happy about it either."

"Watch, Mom!" Tyler shouted from the other side of the pool.

"I'm watching," she reassured.

Tyler glanced over his shoulder to make sure he had her attention and then he hoisted himself out of the water. The wet board shorts sagged around his skinny middle. He tugged them up as he backed away from the pool. When he was far enough, he raced toward the edge and jumped. The resulting splash was enough to wake Bailey.

Logan's timing was impeccable. He bent over to lift a crying Bailey from her bouncer and laid her across his bare chest, kissing the top of her head. He'd changed into a pair of black swim trunks; a towel draped around his neck. Wyatt was wearing her navy suit with large white polka dots and frilly red skirt. She was no longer crying, but her eyes were red and there were still traces of pout on her lips.

Tyler had resurfaced and was hanging on the edge of the pool, treading water. Logan smiled at him. "Awesome jump, Ty." He passed the baby to Veronica. "Want me to show you how to do a cannonball?"

A vigorous head nod and an eager— "Yes!"— from Tyler and Logan circled the pool, preparing to demonstrate his epic cannonball skills.

"You should move," Veronica warned Pam as she herself moved a safe distance from the splash zone. "Hey sweet pea, come sit with me and watch Daddy jump."

Wyatt looked forlorn, standing alone at the side of the pool, and suddenly Veronica was angry with Logan for abandoning their daughter. Slowly, Wyatt walked over, pausing with each step to watch Logan who was squatting in front of Tyler, hand on his shoulder, explaining the secret to making a really big splash.

Turning away, Veronica focused on Wy. "You know what would look really good with that swimsuit? A boa!"

Her head tilted and she sucked the tip of her finger. Popping it from her mouth, she nodded. "An' a hat!"

Everything that went on her head was a hat- even a tiara. Veronica smiled. "Let's go make your swimsuit fancy and then we can have a dance party on the grass."

"Okay Mama." She skipped toward the house.

Not bothering to explain her retreat, Veronica followed Wyatt. She heard Logan call after them and ignored him. She knew she was undermining him by allowing their daughter to go ahead with her dance party.

_Am I though? He's the one who promised it to her in the first place_.

It wasn't that she thought Wyatt should get her way anytime she pouted or threw a temper tantrum, but this was different. This was… Veronica didn't know what 'this' was, but she didn't like it. "Why don't you get a tutu for Rabbit so she can dance too?" She held up the baby who was wearing a white onesie with little ducks. "I'm thinking orange."

Wyatt shook her head. "Lellow," she contradicted and then raced off to her room.

Veronica located the abandoned music player, placed it on the counter, and called Dottie. She couldn't stay here all day, she had things to do —a dance session with Pam, a trip to Frederick's of Hollywood, a birth certificate to collect from Mac— and yet she was reluctant to leave Logan alone with the kids.

"Hello," Dottie answered, way too chipper for Veronica's mood.

"It's Veronica; I know Logan said we wouldn't need you until this afternoon, but do you think you could come now?" Having Dottie provide their daycare was a boon. The kids loved her and, after living with Keith for the past six months, she understood Veronica's crazy schedule. Plus she never complained about short notice.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, I just… uh, Logan has his hands full."  _Playing Daddy to his newly-discovered son_. She frowned.  _Bitter, party of one_.

Dottie hesitated. "Are you sure you're okay? You seem—"

_Edgy? Incensed? Hostile? Yes, yes, yes_. "I'm fine; we're about to have a dance party in the yard."

She laughed. "I told your father that music player would eventually drive you and Logan crazy. To be honest though, I think that was its selling point."

"I'll remember that when I'm shopping for his Christmas gift."

"Go easy and don't forget that I live here too."

"So what are you saying, no spitting llamas?"

"Definitely not."

Wyatt bounded into the kitchen, thrusting a handful of boas, tutus, and tiaras at her. "Here, Mama."

"I've got to go, my presence is required; I'll see you soon." Veronica hung up and sorted through the collection, outfitting Bailey with her too-large tutu and then balancing a tiara on her own head. She wrapped a white boa around her neck and then fixed Wyatt's red one so she wouldn't trip. "Are we ready to get our groove on?"

"Silly Mama," she giggled.

Veronica bobbed her head, stuck her tongue out, and played air guitar on Bailey's tummy, which made Wyatt laugh. Hearing her daughter's laughter lightened her mood. She picked up one of the extra boas. "Should we ask Daddy's friend Pam to dance party with us?"

Nodding, she snatched the purple feathers and went racing into the yard. Veronica followed at a slightly slower pace than full-tilt boogie. But by the time she reached the deck, Wyatt had already cajoled Pam into wearing the boa and joining her near the cedar playground.

Studiously avoiding looking in the direction of the pool, Veronica set the music player on the picnic table. An actual MP3 player, she'd loaded it with kid-friendly, real- _ish_  music because rockin' out to  _The Wheels on the Bus_  was not a good time for Mommy. She turned to Pam. "Logan promised her a dance party; we can go as soon as Dottie gets here."

"Don't worry about it." Pam smiled. "Dancing barefoot in the grass on a sunny day sounds perfect."

It was too much chatting and not enough dancing for Wyatt. She climbed onto the bench to press play. As soon as the music began, she scrambled down and started rocking her hips. "Mama do."

Veronica broke out the mashed potato, twisting her heels in and out. The bouncing made Bailey grin. Wyatt clapped and turned to look at Pam who immediately started to mash potato. They danced around the yard, which, for Wy, involved some skipping, out-of-sync hand clapping, bouncing, and a serious attempt at doing the twist. Then Pam showed her how to do the pony and —what was bound to become her new favorite— the bunny hop.

Hopping and bopping around the yard, she paid no attention to Logan and Tyler in the pool; until her 'Daddy' song started to play and her face fell.

Whether it was hearing the song or seeing his daughter's look of disappointment, Veronica didn't know, but Logan shouted, "Hey Jellybean, wait for me." He pulled himself from the pool and then offered a hand to help Tyler out. Skipping a towel, Logan crossed the yard and swung Wyatt into the air. She squealed when he brought her back down and wrapped his wet arms around her, soaking her bathing suit.

_Dance with me, sing with me, have a little fun with me_. He spun her around and when the song reached the lyric  _splash me in the deep blue sea_ , he shook his head, flinging water droplets across her face. She tossed her head back, laughing.  _We've got all day, just you and me, there's nowhere else I'd rather be_.

Pam sidled up to Veronica. "He's different."

She knew what Pam meant —that becoming a dad had changed him— but this was an opening for Veronica to learn more about the nine-years-Logan. "Oh?" She played dumb. "How so?"

The right side of Pam's mouth lifted in a bemused half-smile. "If you want to know something about Logan, just ask."

"And you'll just tell me?"

"Yes… but only because you're Veronica."

There was no time to question what she meant by that because Dottie came walking through the side gate. Logan's surprise at her appearance —raised eyebrows— turned to confusion —deep frown— and then he gave Veronica an icy stare.  _Time for me to skedaddle_.

Dottie kissed Wyatt's cheek, said hello to Logan, and then made her way over to them. "Pam" —she offered her a warm smile— "It's been a long time."

"Too long," Pam agreed, hugging Dottie. "I think the last time was…" Her voice trailed off and she looked away. Instead of finishing the original thought, she changed the subject. "How are your sons?"

"They're good. I hear you have a son now?"

Pam nodded, turning to find him. During the dancing and conversation, he'd migrated across the yard and back to the pool. He was sitting on the stairs in the shallow end. "Tyler," Pam called, beckoning him over.

Ty ducked his head, shoulders slumping in resignation as he slowly climbed the stairs. Moving as if the air around him was made of lead, he dragged his way over to his mother with a few longing glances back toward the pool.

Pam shook her head. "Yeah, I get it- grownups are boring, but I want you to meet a friend of mine." When he was at her side, Pam put her hands on his shoulders and presented him to Dottie. "This is Tyler."

Dottie said hello and introduced herself and received a quick  _hiya_  in return before Ty turned to his mother to ask, "Can I go swimming now?"

"We're all going swimming now," Logan interjected. Wyatt was perched on his shoulders, palms pressed against his cheeks with a wide smile on her face. She had her daddy back and all was right with her world.

Tyler raised his chin to look up at Logan. "Even the baby?"

"Me no baby," Wyatt protested, leaning forward to glare at him.

" _Duh_ , I meant that one." Ty pointed to Bailey.

"No, I think I'll keep this little one all to myself," Dottie said, reaching for the baby.

Veronica kissed Bay's head before handing her over. "There's milk in the fridge and hopefully" —she crossed her fingers— "she'll eat; if not, I'll feed her when I drop off Pam; we shouldn't be gone long."

Logan pivoted in her direction. "Will you be back before I leave for work?"

"Probably not," is what she said, but  _definitely not_ is what she meant. She'd recognized his 'we-need-to-talk' tone and she was in no mood for that conversation —for  _any_  conversation. She was all talked out, especially since it would just circle back to the same issue:  _Tyler's not mine, blah, blah, blah_ and, until she heard it from LabCorp, there was no point.

Wyatt tried leaning over to give her an awkward hug goodbye, which ended in her falling off Logan's shoulders into Veronica's arms. She covered Wy's face in smooches and promised she'd be home soon. There were no goodbye kisses for Logan —a fact that both of them seemed fine with— and then she and Pam went inside.

"Are we going back to Dick's house?" Pam asked once they were in the living room.

"That works." Veronica slung her messenger bag over her shoulder. "I mean he's probably already got a stripper pole in his bedroom."

Pam laughed. "With mirrors on the ceiling."

"And a sign: objects in the mirror may appear larger than they actually are," Veronica dryly added as she grabbed her keys and headed for the front door. She set the alarm, bypassing the zone for the back doors, and made sure the front door was locked. "We'll take my car."

Veronica walked to the BMW and paused with her hand on the door. She was parked in the driveway behind Logan's  _mom-van_  and Dottie's Mustang was parked in front of the house. Scanning the street, she identified which cars belonged to the neighbors and easily picked out the unfamiliar vehicle.  _One of these things is not like the others; one of these things just doesn't belong_.

A Jeep Wrangler in a lime green that could compete with Logan's old Xterra for 'most obnoxious color' was parked across the street on a diagonal. "Is that your car," Veronica asked, starting toward it.

"Do you want me to drive?"

"No." Veronica circled the jeep. "How did you get it?"

"I'm guessing – at a dealership – is the wrong answer?"

Yesterday, Logan would have followed Pam to the motel to get her things and pick up Tyler so he'd have his own car to get home. When Veronica had asked him if he was careful about being followed from the motel, he said ' _we went to the restaurant first, left through the kitchen, and switched to Dick's car_.' She'd assumed they went to the restaurant in  _one_  car, leaving Pam's vehicle at the motel. Dick would've driven Logan back to the restaurant to retrieve his car after Pam and Tyler were settled.

"Did you drive it to the restaurant yesterday?"

"No, we went in Logan's car. Dick brought me to the motel this morning to pick it up."

If Sam or his goons were sitting on the motel, waiting for Pam to return, they could have followed her here.  _Or better still_ … Veronica dropped to her haunches near the front passenger tire and ran her fingers along the inside of the wheel well. She repeated the procedure on the other tires and found nothing.

Pam moved with her to each tire. "I wasn't followed; I did everything Logan showed me."

People unfamiliar with GPS tracking software —and way too many old cop shows— liked to stick trackers in the trunk or under the hood, but satellite signals do not pass through metal. A tracker in those locations would require wiring to an external antenna.  _Fiberglass and plastic though…_

Veronica considered the car. Front and rear bumpers were a good place to hide them, unless they too were made out of metal, and these were bright silver chrome. Unfortunately, with its open roof and roll bars, there were just too many places to hide a covert tracker on the Jeep, including her personal favorite – under the dash.

"Give me your keys." Veronica held out her hand for them and Pam complied with the request, dropping them in the center of her palm.

_Search and destroy_. But first, she needed to make sure it was safe to drive and get it away from her house. Rummaging through her bag, she located a flashlight, and then looked at Pam. "Go back in the yard and wait for me."


	5. We Can Work It Out

CHAPTER FIVE

Veronica didn't wait to see if Pam complied with her directive. Dropping to the ground, she shimmied under the jeep. She scanned the undercarriage, paying close attention to the area near the fuel tank and tailpipe. A popular tactic was to place a bomb so it would create a gas tank explosion.

Nothing appeared out of place. There were no loose wires, visible tool marks, or suspicious looking "extras." She climbed out from beneath the car and scanned the street again. No strangers idling nearby for remote detonation and there was no debris —discarded pieces of wire or metal— near the scene. She checked all the lug nuts to see if any of them had been loosened and re-examined the wheel wells. Unlocking the passenger door, she cautiously opened it, and then shined the flashlight beneath the seat. She repeated the procedure on the driver's side.

"What are you doing?"

_Logan_. Veronica gritted her teeth. "Making sure it's safe to drive."

"Oh, are you the bomb squad now?"

"Well, if you see me running, try to keep up." She squeezed further into the footwell to examine the brake and the gas pedal. Then she directed the flashlight beam into the space under the dash. The tracker was exactly where she would have installed it. Veronica reached for it and stopped, changing her mind.

"I'm going to pop the hood." She backed out of the car and straightened. "Do you want to help me or do you just want to stand there and look pretty?"

And he  _did_  look pretty.  _Curse me and my stupid hormones_. He'd put a pair of faded jeans on over his swim trunks, but the button and fly remained undone. Barefoot and shirtless with his wet, mussed hair, he looked like one of those advertisements where you weren't sure of the product, but you knew you needed to have it.

His sigh irritated her, but it did nothing to cool her libido. He dragged a hand through his hair. "What do you want me to do?"

_Go away_. "Hold your hand over the hood and make sure it doesn't bounce up too fast."

When he was in position, she pulled the release. He didn't wait for her to join him, slowly inspecting the rim for wires and then gingerly raising the hood. His eyes scanned the engine. Holding out a hand, he said, "Flashlight please."

Veronica smacked it into his open palm, folded her arms across her chest, and leaned against the side of the car with her back to him.

"Do you need a fancy dance party too or should I just let you pout?"

Her teeth started to grind. "I'm not  _pouting_ ; I'm thinking."

There was no way to know when they'd placed the tracker on the car. They'd wired it into the jeep so it had an uninterrupted power supply. It could've been planted last night or right after the money went missing. If it was the latter, they now knew the jeep had been parked on this street for two days in a row. Once was easy to dismiss as a casual errand, twice could be the start of a pattern.

Without physical eyes on the car —and Veronica was pretty sure they weren't watching, but she scanned the street again to confirm— it would be impossible for them to know which house Pam was visiting. Even if they made the connection from Pam to Logan, it would take them a while to link Logan to the house.

After Gina, Logan had created a pyramid of shell companies and transferred the ownership of the house up the chain. He'd done the same with their vehicles and routed all their mail to a post office box. On paper they personally owned nothing and had no home address.

The slam of the hood reverberated through her shoulders. Logan leaned next to her and gently took the keys from her hand. "Go wait across the street while I start it." He tacked on a, "Please."

Veronica did as he asked, but when she reached the curb in front of their house, she regretted the decision. Whirling around, she started to run back to the jeep. "Logan, don't—"

The ignition turned over and the engine idled. No ticking sounds, no explosions. Turning his head, he smirked at her. "So you  _do_  care."

"Jackass." She gripped the door panel to keep from touching him. "Get out, I need to move this."

Keeping his hands on the wheel, he relaxed deeper into the seat and made himself comfortable. "I'm never going to complain about you being extra cautious, but… car bombs? Isn't that a little extreme over two hundred grand?"

"Just because you can order that amount over the phone like pizza doesn't make it chump change. People have been killed for less."

His slight nod acknowledged her point. "Where do you want me to put this?"

"Oh, I know where I'd  _like_  to tell you to put it, but I don't think it will fit." She circled the hood and climbed into the passenger seat. "You know that little gray house on the corner of Camino?" He nodded. "Bring it there and park it in the driveway."

The woman who owned the house passed away without a spouse or any children. It was now in the hands of the Public Administrator's office who were maintaining the property until they could locate her heirs-at-law, which meant it was vacant.

Veronica's initial instinct was to move the jeep as far away from her house as possible —Timbuktu and Outer Mongolia were her first choices— but it wouldn't explain Pam's presence in the neighborhood, which might encourage someone to go looking for a reason. Putting the car in the vacant driveway would lead them to believe this was Pam's hideout - an explanation  _and_  a decoy. Plus, with a few of her own surveillance methods, Veronica would be able to watch the watchers.

"Why did you call Dottie?"

She shrugged. "You were a little preoccupied with Tyler and I needed to leave."

"And you thought I'd do what? Let the girls fend for themselves?"

_Why is this street so long?_  "I was being considerate."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's what it was." He turned into the driveway and shoved the gearshift into park. "We need to fix this, Veronica; tell me what you want me to do."

_Go back in time and not sleep with Pam_. She opened her door. "You can take the keys back to Pam." Exiting the jeep, she grabbed her bag from the floor. "I'll be there in a few minutes." Veronica slammed the door with a resounding thud.

She pushed open the gate that led from the driveway to the front lawn, waiting in vain to hear the sound of Logan leaving.  _Great, now we'll have the long walk back to the house to 'talk.'_  Veronica sighed.  _Concentrate on the case_.

There was something about a vacant house that looked… well,  _vacant_. Balboa County's idea of 'maintaining' a house was to install a realtor lock box on the front door and forget about it. Their lax attitude worked in her favor since no one would be by to check on things, but she'd need to spruce things up if her decoy was going to work. There was nothing to be done about the lawn right now and she'd definitely need to come back with curtains, but she could get rid of the lock box.

It was a four digit combination lock. Taking a thin metal "feeler" from her bag, she slid it into the space next to the first wheel. She twisted the numbers until she found the notch and the piece of metal dipped lower, and then she moved through the rest of the number wheels doing the same. Once they were all aligned, she clicked each of the numbers up three positions and snapped open the box. Veronica pocketed the house key that was inside and undid the shackle, removing it from the door handle. She tossed it in her bag.

She'd go through the house later when Logan wasn't staring holes into the back of her head. As she walked down the front steps, he got out of the jeep, shutting the door and locking it behind him. He leaned on the side panel, waiting for her to join him, hand shoved in his front pocket.

"It felt like you were choosing Tyler over Wyatt and it made me angry," she blurted the accusation at him.

He recoiled, eyes wide and jaw slack. Then his gaze narrowed and he came back swinging. "So to prove I love our daughter I should just let her get her way every time she pouts? Is that your definition of good parenting?"

"That's not what happened and you know it."

"No, I don't  _know_  it. What I saw was a little girl starting to throw a temper tantrum because she wanted—"

"A dance party that YOU promised her, but then Tyler shows up ready to swim and it's sorry, Wyatt your needs don't matter."

"Needs? When did—"

Ignoring him, Veronica continued her tirade. "Then you brought her out to the pool and abandoned her to spend time with Tyler. How do you think that made her feel? Watching you teach this other kid how to do cannonballs while excluding her?"

"Are we talking about Wyatt or you now?"

Veronica sputtered. Turning on her heel, she stalked down the drive. She didn't get far before Logan cut in front of her.  _Damn him and his long legs_.

"Isn't it possible that you're projecting  _your_  feelings about Tyler onto Wyatt?"

"Don't psychoanalyze me," she snapped.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and loudly exhaled. When he regained his composure, he placed his hands on her shoulders, and ducked down so they were eye level. "Wyatt and Bailey and  _you_  are my entire world, Veronica. Nothing will ever be more important to me than the three of you."

"I know you love us, Logan, but I also know Wyatt and she was  _hurt_."

Letting his hands fall from her shoulders, he stared at her with wounded eyes. Logan would rather cut off his own arm than do something to intentionally hurt their daughters. His kicked puppy expression almost made her regret saying anything.

"We should get back." He turned away and started for home.

Veronica rushed to catch up with him, grabbing his wrist to make him stop. "Logan, I'm…" He waited expectantly for her to finish and she gnawed her bottom lip.

He was right; they did need to fix this. Wyatt had been sullen before Tyler even showed up at the house and it was because of them, but Veronica didn't know what to say to make things right. She wasn't sorry for the way she felt or for defending Wyatt.

Logan stroked her cheek. "We'll talk tonight after the kids go to sleep."

She mutely nodded and slipped her hand in his for the walk home. At the end of their driveway, she disentangled their fingers. "I'll wait in the car for Pam; I don't want to alert Bailey to the presence of her favorite milk delivery system," she said dryly.

He smiled. "Ain't nothin' like the real thing, baby."

Leaning forward, he kissed the tip of her nose and Veronica seized the opportunity to run her hands over his stomach and up his chest. Logan grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head back. His eyes searched her face, seeking permission before lowering his mouth to kiss her. It was a tender kiss and she sighed against his lips.  _Why can't everything between us be as easy as this?_

Another quick peck and he stepped back. "Be safe."

"You too," she called, watching him disappear into the house.

He was training on the F-35 Lightning this week and she was always a little nervous when he was flying. This job Dottie found for him was the best of both worlds. Regular hours and no deployments meant he could be home every night, but he still got to fly and occasionally hang out with his former Navy buddies so Veronica kept her worry to herself.

She slid behind the wheel of the BMW to wait for Pam. When the other woman joined her, she put the car in reverse, backing from the drive and heading for Dick's. "So…." —a sidelong look at Pam— "what did you mean by the  _'but only because you're Veronica'_  comment?"

Pam laughed. "Logan was right, you are persistent."

"Knowing my husband and his mood yesterday,  _persistent_  sounds way too mild, are you sure it wasn't stubborn, obstinate,  _relentless_?"

"Maybe," she demurred. "I just know that he doesn't want to keep secrets from you and anything I can tell you, he would tell you himself."  _If you asked him_. Pam didn't say it, but it was clearly implied.

Veronica shrugged. They had a long history of keeping secrets from each other. Ascribe whatever reasons you wanted to it —fear of recrimination, self-protection, avoiding conflict— they were  _both_  very good at withholding information. It was on their top ten list of 'issues Logan and Veronica need to work on.'  _Top ten?_  She smirked.  _More like top one hundred_.

"Let's just save time- tell me everything you know."

Another chuckle. "You're probably going to need to be more specific."

"Was the overdo—" Veronica started and stopped, frowning. Opening her mouth to start again, she promptly closed it.  _Respecting personal boundaries- yet another item from our list._  Logan's past belonged to him and Pam was right. If there was something Veronica wanted to know about him, he needed to be the one to tell her. "Why did you drop out of his life so suddenly?"

"Carrie asked me to." There was no anger or bitterness in the simple statement.

"Did she have a reason?"  _A reason like her boyfriend was the father of your son?_  "And more importantly, does Logan know?"

"He didn't then, but he does now; he asked me almost the exact same question yesterday." Pam shifted in her seat, turning her head to stare out the window. Veronica caught the movement in her peripheral vision and glanced over, unsure if Pam was going to answer her other question.

As the silence stretched on, she was convinced that Pam was done with the conversation, but then she said: "I don't think Carrie was jealous of  _me_  —maybe what I represented? Logan had a lot of women from his past that he couldn't let go of, and I was just the available target."

Carrie wrote her posthumous hit song,  _Ghosts_ , around the same time Pam visited with them in Chicago. The lyrics — _she's the voice in your head and the ghost in our bed_ — prompted Veronica to say, "You mean me."

"You, Lilly, his mom, Trina – take your pick."

_And now I'm jealous_. Veronica clenched and unclenched her fingers around the steering wheel. It was the easy way Pam mentioned Lilly and Lynn, even Trina. For Logan to discuss these people with Pam, there needed to be an intimacy between them that went beyond sex and maybe even past friendship.

Veronica parked the car in front of Dick's house and shut off the engine. Twisting to face Pam, she asked: "Were you… did you and Logan date?"

"We went places and we had sex."

Veronica blinked.  _Guess I didn't need to worry about being blunt with Pam_.

"If you want to call that 'dating' you can, but Logan and I never did. We were friends." Her sentence was laced with the bitterness that was missing earlier.  _No, not bitter_  —Veronica corrected—  _wistful_.

Not wanting to think about the significance of her tone, Veronica changed the subject. "I don't know if this is the best place for me to learn; I was only kidding about Dick having a stripper pole in his bedroom."

"I have a portable one. It only takes a few minutes to install and we'll be all set." She climbed from the car. "Know what song you're going to use?"

"No." Veronica shut the car door and followed her up the walkway. "Guess that would've been helpful, huh?"

Pam shrugged. "It's not a big deal. We'll work on a routine and put it to music later. I want to concentrate on floor work and keep you off the pole as much as possible." Using her key, she unlocked the front door. "The advanced tricks will take you too long to learn and you need to have really good core strength and flexibility."

The small daybed from the kitchen had been dragged onto the sun porch. It sat opposite the queen-sized bed and two large suitcases were spread open on its mattress. All the bamboo shades were drawn over the windows and doors. The lack of sunlight gave the house a gloomy feel.

Pam switched on a few lamps. "Logan insisted that we keep the windows covered at all times." She squatted next to the bed and slid a long box from beneath. "You can take this home when we're done - to practice."

"Uh, okay."  _Maybe Logan will consider it an early Christmas present_.

They pushed the furniture out of the way. Pam got a stepladder and drill from Dick's pantry and, using a stud-finder, bolted a hook into the ceiling. After attaching the pole, she adjusted its height and mounted it, securing its base in a rubber non-skid plate.

Pam paused with her hand on the pole. "Thank you for doing this, Veronica."

The gratitude was sincere. Fighting the urge to wave it away or dismiss it with a casual  _don't mention it_ , Veronica nodded in acceptance. "You're welcome." Before the silence had a chance to grow awkward, she patted the pole. "So how naked do I have to get?"

"The sneakers, socks, and yoga pants." Pam pulled off her shoes and undid the snap of her jeans, pushing them down and kicking them away. "You might want to lose the shirt too," she added as she took off her own t-shirt and tossed it on the sofa.

Veronica looked down at her clothes. When deciding what to wear for her first stripper class — _there's something I never thought I'd say_ — this had seemed like a good idea. She glanced at Pam in her black bra and matching bikini briefs.  _Guess not_.

Correctly reading her hesitation, Pam explained, "The clothes will make you slip on the pole so it's easier to learn without them."

"What I actually meant was" —she toed off her sneakers and peeled off the yoga pants— "how naked do I have to get  _at the club_?"

"We serve alcohol downstairs."

Veronica nodded and then stripped off her shirt. Serving alcohol meant no full nudity in the state of California. "What about upstairs in the VIP rooms?"

Pam sidestepped the question. "There are private booths on the first floor for lap dances, but those are for the same guys who've been drinking in the main club so topless is the limit." She wrapped her hands around the pole, slightly above her head. Bending her knees, she lifted her legs off the floor, supporting her body weight with just her arms. "This is a strength exercise- you're going to hold as long as you can and keep repeating it."

"The VIP rooms?" Veronica prompted, attempting the same exercise Pam just demonstrated. When her hands started to slip, she let go and returned to the floor.

"Upstairs has a separate entrance and no bar." Pam gripped the pole again, but instead of facing it, she kept it aligned with the side of her body and lifted. She drew her legs up, knees to chest, and slowly lowered them until her feet almost touched the floor and then pulled them up again.

It was almost the same exercise Veronica watched Logan do each morning — _hanging knee raises_ — on the pull up bar in their bedroom. She did two and decided it was more fun watching Logan get sweaty than actually doing them herself.

Pam showed her a few more exercises to do at home and then started with the moves she'd need for her routine. "To walk around the pole, you're going to hold it lightly like the stem of a wine glass and you're going to cross your feet one in front of the other in a slow, sexy strut." As she explained, she demonstrated and then made Veronica do it.

They repeated the basics —walking around and sliding down the pole and turns— until Pam was satisfied with Veronica's performance. "We'll do spins next and then I'll show you how to climb the pole."

As she was talking, Pam lifted her leg, flexing her foot around the pole. She pulled her body up and her second leg joined the first. Raising her knees to her chest, she moved higher and then squeezed the pole between her legs, using them as support to stretch her body into an almost standing position. She frowned and slid back to the ground.

"Spins and floor work aren't going to be enough; you could learn these things in a basic pole dancing class." She turned away, shoulders slumping. "Maybe I should just take the money and run."

Tyler would be gone. There would be no worrying about having to share Logan with another family. Things would go back to normal. Well,  _normal_  for them. But if Tyler was Logan's child, it would mean sentencing her husband to a life without his son and denying Tyler a really great father. She pushed her shoulders back. "Show me what else I need to learn."

"Are you—" Pam spun around and stopped talking. Her gaze swept over Veronica. With a nod, she smiled and said, "Persistent."

Returning to the pole, she explained each step of how to climb as she did it. She then rattled off a list of things —a basic invert, an aerial invert, transitions, and something called the caterpillar— that Veronica would need to learn.

The instructional followed the same already established pattern – monkey see, monkey do. It was grueling work, learning how to strip bare for a group of horny men. Veronica scooped her t-shirt from the floor, drying her hands and then the pole. "How did you learn all this?"

Pam laughed. "I'm naturally gifted." She effortlessly did the basic invert Veronica was struggling with and then inched her way down the pole like a caterpillar – push, lift, slide. "A woman at my first club in Reno took pity on me and showed me some things." She landed on the floor in a handstand and stood. "Your turn."

"Tell me about the other dancers at the club."

"We have sixty girls total, but only five of us work the private parties. Me, my friend Reina —Reina Fields— we danced together in Vegas until I quit to work at the casino." She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with two bottles of water, passing one to Veronica. "There's Lacey Moskvin and Siobhan Byrne —I don't know too much about them except they're both from Neptune— and Karen."

Veronica gulped down the bottle of water and wiped her mouth. "Do you know where Karen is?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say she's with her mom in San Diego, but I can't say for sure." She palmed Veronica's hips, fixing her alignment and then adjusted her grip on the pole, sliding her hand up closer to her belly button. "Now push out and squat."

Veronica's arms started to wobble. "The two guys with Sam?" She gritted the question through clenched teeth.

"Frick and Frack?" Pam shrugged. "Sam calls one of them Mickey so maybe Michael? The other one is in the club a lot, but I don't know his name. He has a thing for Siobhan though, so she'd be able to tell you." She crossed the room to Dick's stereo. "I think you've had enough for today." She flipped through the CD's on top of the speaker. "Now I'll show you how all those moves work together."

"Must have more water first." Veronica dragged herself to the fridge. The cool air was blissful. She leaned in further, resting her forehead on the edge of a shelf. The wail of an electric guitar signaled the end of her momentary respite. Grabbing three bottles of water, she went back to the living room.

The moment she turned the corner, Pam started the show, strutting her way across the floor toward the pole. The lyrics of the song pulsed through the room.  _But I got a girl who can put on a show. The dollar decides how far you can go. She wraps those hands around that pole. She licks those lips and off we go._

Veronica collapsed in one of the chairs, sucking down her water while she watched Pam perform. She stuck to only the moves she'd shown Veronica, blending them into a seamless routine. Logan's nickname for her, Little Red, was abundantly clear –  _a body like yours oughta be in jail 'cause it's on the verge of being obscene_.

He'd written in his journal about Pam's private performance for him. There weren't explicit details, but her song choice didn't leave a lot to the imagination. Veronica twisted the now empty water bottle between her hands. Squeezing it in her fist, she chucked it on the table and picked up a fresh one.

Pam timed the dance to end with the song. Raising her voice to be heard over the next track on the CD, she said: "We can slow it down or speed it up depending on what song you pick." She crossed the room, clicked off the stereo and turned back to Veronica. "Of course you still have to learn how to do it in heels."

"How  _do_  you do it? Strip in front of a room of strange men?" At the question, Pam's expression changed; her eyes hardened into flint and steel and her smile turned brittle. Obviously she'd misread Veronica's meaning. Shaking her head, she clarified, "Not  _why_ , but how – is it like public speaking where you're supposed to picture the audience in their underwear?"

"God, don't do that. Seriously, don't." Pam pulled her t-shirt over her head. It stuck to her skin, outlining the curves. "Imagine someone. Think about Logan and" —she dropped her gaze— "dance for him."


	6. With a Little Help From My Friends

CHAPTER SIX

Dance lesson over, she had driven Pam back to the house. It was a quiet ride, neither of them willing to continue their conversation. For Veronica, it was the advice –  _think about Logan and dance for him_. Not the words themselves, but the fact that Pam wouldn't meet her eyes when she said it. Veronica's follow-up question  _'is that what you do'_  had remained unasked.

The mom-van was missing from the driveway, telling her that Logan had left for work. Its absence loosened Veronica's tongue enough to suggest that Pam wait at the house until she could drive her and Tyler back to Dick's. There wasn't much of a choice. Veronica was already late to meet Mac plus she still needed to see Loretta and shop for a costume.

When they entered the house, the kids were playing trucks on the living room floor. Wyatt seemed happier now that she didn't have to share Logan, letting Tyler play with her favorite yellow dump truck. Clearly, sharing toys was okay, but Daddy was  _hers._

_Hate to break it to you, kid, but he was mine first._

Bailey was equally content having tummy time on the floor with Dottie until she sensed the arrival of  _food_  and demanded a late lunch. Leaving Pam to install the stripper pole, Veronica fed the baby, and then fled the suffocating house. It was like an episode of  _Sister Wives_  - Logan with his different women and multiple children.

She cruised past the gray house and Pam's jeep without slowing. There were outdoor light bulbs at the office with hidden security cameras that she could use in the fixture on the porch and over the garage doors. Plus there was a log cabin bird feeder she could hang in the crape myrtle, which would give her a complete view of the street. When she went back to mow the lawn and hang curtains, she'd set up the surveillance and get her first look at Sam's henchmen.

Paige was at the front desk and on the phone. Veronica gave her a wave before heading to Mac's office. She pushed open the door. "You know, I kinda miss your days as Preeminent People Greeter."

Mac frowned. "I think the title was First Impressions Officer and I like having an  _office_ , with a  _door_ , that most people use for  _knocking_."

"Haven't we covered this ground before?" Veronica dropped into one of the visitor's chairs. "I'm not like most people; social conventions mean nothing to me."

"Like the one about lunch being somewhere between noon and two?" She asked dryly, handing Veronica two manila file folders.

"Is it? I hadn't heard."

The first file was the information on Shenanigans- business entity detail and a copy of the Statement of Information filed with the Secretary of State. Veronica flipped open the other file. The single sheet of paper was Tyler's birth certificate. Born in Mountain View Hospital at the end of October, his last name was Mitchell and his father was listed as unknown. College-Logan may have claimed to be bad at math, but aviator-Logan could certainly calculate nine months. She needed to revisit Logan's journal.

"Veronica?"

Snapping the file closed, she raised her head, and forced a smile. "Not much of a challenge, huh? Guess I'll have to try harder next time." She balanced the files on the edge of Mac's desk. "And speaking of next time… I need some background checks."

Grabbing a pen and a yellow legal pad from her messenger bag, Veronica copied down the names of the dancers Pam gave her. She put Joey Bianchi on the list and then added Sam Carlucci.

Chewing the end of the pen, she stared at the manila folders for a beat, and then wrote Pam Mitchell before giving Mac the sheet of paper. "Standard checks for all —finances, phone records, criminal history, known associates, DMV records— go back three years."

Mac was nodding along with her instructions, making notes next to the names. When she got to Pam, she looked at Veronica. "The mom?"

Veronica bristled at the title,  _the_  mom. "Yes. In fact, start with her and give me everything you can find. Her father was a colonel in the Air Force and she was born overseas. I'll text you later with the name of the base."

Her brow crinkled in confusion. "You want me to go back to her  _birth_? Isn't that a little extreme?"

"Too much of a challenge?" Veronica deflected.

"No, it's just…" Mac was staring at her with an odd expression. "Is she our client or are we working for the alleged dad?"

"Neither." The brusque reply pushed Mac back in her seat, deep worry lines replacing the confusion.

Trying for a more neutral tone, Veronica said: "Oh and one more thing" —she leaned over and wrote down the address of the decoy house— "The woman who lived here died without a Will- find out what you can about her and how far along the Public Administrator is in the search for her heirs."

"Same case?"

Veronica nodded. "Bill it all to me- no client."

Gone were the days of her father writing his hours and expenses on a log sheet inside the client files. Now they entered all the information into a computerized system. It made it easier to keep track of the retainer and to issue monthly invoices, but it also made it harder to hide things. "Call me when you've got something; I'm going to be working from home for a few days."

"Is everything okay?"

"Peachy." A skeptical raise of her brow said Mac wasn't buying it. Veronica elaborated, "Bailey still doesn't like her bottle."

Technically, it wasn't a lie. While not the reason for her proposed absence from work, the baby  _didn't_  like her bottle and she hadn't since birth. But it hadn't stopped Veronica from returning to work after two months of maternity leave so it didn't make sense as an excuse now. Veronica scooped up her bag and stood. On her way from the office, she knocked on the door, and glanced back at Mac. "You mean like that?"

With a sad shake of her head, Mac turned back to the computer, flexing her fingers over the keyboard. Veronica closed the door on the rapid clacking of keys and skirted past her father's office. Stopping at the front desk, she gave Paige the same work-from-home conversation, retrieved the equipment she wanted from the supply closet, and then hustled her way from the building.

Paige was easy, taking the Bailey excuse at face value. Mac knew better, but wouldn't push. Her dad however would pull out his favorite mode of transportation —overstepping— until he got answers. Avoiding him was definitely her best play. At least until she could perfect her game face because right now there were cracks in the façade.

Not wanting to linger in the parking lot, she pointed the car in the direction of the beach and Loretta Cancun's house. Calling first was usually a mistake. Over the phone people found it easier to avoid you, citing their busy schedules or previous plans as reasons to not help, and Veronica needed her help.

Loretta's address was neither a house nor an apartment. It was an attached townhome in a gated community across the road from the beach. Her corner unit had two balconies —one on the ground level and one on the second floor— and was accessed from the side street. Veronica found street parking a few buildings down and walked back.

The glass-paned door that opened into a private courtyard was locked and required a key card. Disabling the lock and bypassing the flimsy security would be a less than endearing way to start her visit. She rang the bell and waited. The fisheye camera lens on the wall above the lock moved, but there was no welcoming fuzz from the intercom box.

Loretta's head emerged from the first door in the courtyard, turning to see who was ringing her bell. Instead of buzzing Veronica through the security door, she stepped out of the house. Barefoot and clad in a tank top and a pair of capris, her braids were pulled back in a ponytail and her face was absent of any makeup. She looked good. Younger and more relaxed than during her days at The Seventh Veil.

"Veronica Mars" —she pulled open the glass-paned door— "Saw your face in that little monitor thing and didn't believe it, had to see you for myself." Loretta twirled her finger, indicating she should turn around, and Veronica obliged the request. "Damn, you filled out nicely and in all the right places."

She shrugged. "Babies."

"You mean someone had the balls to actually knock you up?"

The pun was obviously unintended, but Logan would appreciate it when she told him later.  _If_  she told him later. His ego was already approaching mythic proportions. "Twice."

"Shit, forget milk- babies do a body good." She pivoted on her heel and started back toward her front door, gesturing for Veronica to follow her inside.

The space was bright and open —resembling a loft— with gleaming hardwood floors and wide white columns. They passed a galley kitchen of oak, granite, and stainless steel on their right with a large island and pendant lights. Loretta righted one of the stools at the island as they made their way into the living room. Sliding glass doors on the far wall stood open, revealing the first floor balcony.

Loretta stopped short, gaze narrowing as she scanned the space with a critical eye. It was a habit Veronica had seen others exhibit, the need to try and see their home as strangers would.  _Is it clean? Is everything in its place?_  It must be another one of those social conventions she didn't get because…  _why do you care what someone else thinks?_

"That man," Loretta huffed, stalking across the room. She plucked the offending item from the sofa —a dress shirt— balled it in her fist and threw it through the sliding doors. It sailed over the wall of the balcony, presumably landing on the front lawn of the complex. "I keep telling him to stop leaving his shit around, messing up my house, but does he listen? Lucky, if I don't throw the rest of his crap out there."

Veronica grinned. This was the Loretta she remembered.

She waved at the now clean sofa. "Sit." The one word was more command than offer and Veronica was enveloped by the plush leather couch before she even realized she was following the order. "Okay, tell me what you need and I'll make it happen."

That was almost too easy. "Why?"

Her head jerked back in surprise. "You did me a real solid with that Suds-N-Duds business. I don't forget these things" —she tapped her temple— "and Loretta always pays her debts."

Helping Loretta escape those charges was only a lucky byproduct of saving Wallace from the PCHers. She didn't owe Veronica a thing, but now wasn't the time to split hairs. "I have a new case that requires me to go undercover as a stripper."

An appraising look and then a slow nod. "You'll be real good at that."

Veronica leaned forward. "Stripping?" Her voice climbed an octave on the last syllable.

"Uh-huh. Going undercover- it's all an act right? You're pretending to be something, someone else to get what you need? Same with stripping. You pretend to be their sexual fantasy and they give you money."

_Private investigation and stripping are the same; Dad will be pleased to know_. "I'm going to need to provide work experience and references and I wanted—"

"Done. You just tell them you worked at The Seventh Veil and I'll back you up. Now what are you thinking about hair and makeup and costumes?"

"I was going to Fredericks of—"

"No." Loretta shook her head. "You go to Wicked Venus over on Midway; I'll get you the address." Standing, she started for the stairs and paused, frowning. "Where you gonna be doing this dancing?"

"Shenanigans, it's on—"

"I know where it is." Her mouth snapped closed, opened, and closed again as if she wanted to say something and then changed her mind. Loretta's sudden restraint was a little disconcerting  _and_  disappointing. "At least it's in Balboa County – that's good." She nodded to herself. "Because if it was in San Diego you'd need a police permit."

_Police permission to strip?_

Before Veronica could question the information, Loretta disappeared upstairs. When she returned, she picked up the conversation. "All adult entertainers need permits. And  _don't_  say you do bachelor parties; you need a  _special_  outcall permit for that- even in Balboa." Her mouth pursed in disapproval. Whether it was the 'special' rules in Balboa County or the need for permits at all that earned her ire, Veronica couldn't be sure.

Loretta held the business card out for her and Veronica glanced at the pink script before tucking the card in her bag. She'd have to see what Mac could do about creating a backdated outcall permit for her alias. Bachelor parties were her plan for what she'd been doing for work since leaving The Seventh Veil.

"Thanks for this" —Veronica patted the pocket with the business card and started to stand— "I'll call you with my alias and stage name so you'll know…" She fell silent as Loretta shook her head.

"We're not done. There's stuff you still need to know." Pointing at the couch, she waited for Veronica to sit back down and then continued. "Lap dances are where the money's at and some clubs are a little loose with the no touching rules so decide what you will do and what's a hell no."

"You get that I'm not actually trying to make a living as a stripper right?"

Loretta rolled her eyes. "But you need to  _look_  like you are so pay attention." She held up one finger. "Personal boundaries- set them and keep them." A second finger popped up. " _Never_  tell a customer you're getting off work or that your shift ends soon. They might follow you or hang out in the parking lot, waiting for you. Plus the crazy-ass pigs think this is  _solicitation_." Another eye roll and she held up a third finger. " _Always_  have a bouncer walk you to your car at the end of the night."

That was a tidbit she'd be keeping from Logan. It would just lend credence to his dumb idea of going undercover with her. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, forget that 'you have to smile' shit. Now don't get me wrong, smiling is good, but don't be grinning like some damn fool who's been huffing laughing gas. Flirt with them, tease. Make them want what they can't have."

"Got it- coy, flirty smiles."

"Oh and eye contact —like you're dancing just for them— only don't actually look them in the eye, stare right here." She jabbed her forefinger in between Veronica's eyebrows. "You're gonna get a bikini wax before you start, but keeping up with that shit is impossible, so when you shave, apply some gel deodorant after your shower, for the redness. Me? I like to use Neosporin instead of shaving cream, but coconut oil works too."

Veronica nodded along as the list continued: shave bikini with the grain, thighs against; don't wear lotion and grease up the pole- the girls will  _hate_  you; stay hydrated; exfoliate; use body glitter; wear extra makeup because the stage lights will wash you out.

The endless words created a not-unpleasant susurration of sound, lulling Veronica. When Loretta finally stopped talking, the silence was jarring.

Veronica's first question had nothing to do with the litany of stripper advice. "Do you know someone who dances at Shenanigans?"

Loretta clucked her tongue. "Were you listening to me at all?"

She nodded. "No to lotion, yes to body glitter. Good-fitting shoes so they don't fly off and hit someone."

Eyes narrowing, Loretta used the same critical gaze to scrutinize Veronica that she'd used earlier on her living room, and then she said, "No, I don't know any girls at that place." She spit the words  _'that place'_  from her mouth like they left a bad taste. "Look, the Veil was a dive, but you knew what you were getting- horny guys looking to get their rocks off, working guys, husbands. They had their favorite girls and their fetishes… There was this one guy who got off on  _feet_. Can you believe that shit?" Loretta shook her head in disbelief. "Blows his paycheck to see  _feet_ \- could've gone to Payless and saved himself some money."

Another pun Logan would appreciate. "Shenanigans is different?"

"Yeah, it's for the rich folk" —her lips compressed together in a grim line— "And you've been around Neptune long enough to know how the rich treat their playthings."

Loretta stood, signaling an end to their conversation. She walked Veronica out of the house, through the courtyard, and back to the front entrance. "Watch yourself is what I'm saying and call me. My cell's on that business card and I'll pick up for you."

The rich and their playthings: Jake and Lianne; Big Dick and Kendall; Aaron and… everybody. Logan and Pam? Veronica frowned. There were pieces missing to that picture. She had Pam's  _'we had sex and we went places'_ but the softness in her eyes when she looked at Logan set lie to those words. Logan's journal sketched in facts; he didn't wax poetic over his  _feelings_  for Pam.

Veronica drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. It was late, but she didn't want to go home. Pulling the business card for Wicked Venus from her bag, she flipped it over. As promised, Loretta's cell number was carefully printed on the back. She used her own cell to call the store for their hours. They were open until eight.

The store on Midway was conveniently located next to a strip club, across the street from a short-stay motel, and a bar. There was also a pancake house on the corner, handy for carb-loading to absorb all the alcohol you just consumed. Veronica pulled into the parking lot the store shared with the club. Their sign touted the strippers as "showgirls" in an effort to sound classy. She found a spot right near the exit.

Parking was an easier decision than deciding what to wear for her exotic dancing debut. She'd already discarded the short sleeve, mid-drift showing, tie-top, and the schoolgirl skirt as too trite. Same for actual costumes —naughty nurse, French maid, sexy cop— all in the reject pile. Two hours and she still couldn't decide between the last five outfits.

She shrugged, taking them all to the counter along with the various G-strings, bras, garters, stockings, and  _ridiculously_  high heels. As the sales clerk rang up the last item, Veronica added the black thigh-high boots with the six inch platform heel, and lace up front.

Tossing her bags in the trunk, she powered up her phone, and checked the missed call log. There were four calls- two from Mac, one from her dad, and the last was Logan. She shut it down and returned it to the center console without calling any of them.

The beach road —historic route 101— was a long, slow drive. If she were a different person, it would be a great time for self-reflection and examining all the reasons she was so determined to play stripper. But she was not that girl. Instead she used the time to rapidly click through stations on the radio and her iPod in search of a song.

Logan was home and Dottie's car was gone.  _Hope he enjoyed his time playing house with Pam_. She pulled the car alongside his SUV. Leaving the shopping bags in the trunk, Veronica went inside.

Wyatt's excited and loud, "Paints," told Veronica the location of her family. She punched in the alarm code, crossed the living room, and headed for the hallway bath.

"Not tonight, tomorrow."

Logan's rejection of the tub finger painting elicited a counteroffer from their daughter. "Bubbles?"

"Okay, but first you have to pick out your pajamas and brush your teeth."

Wyatt was already exerting control of her wardrobe choices. It all started with those tutus — _thanks Dick_ — and had progressed to weird sleeping attire, strange color combinations, and a need to accessorize all outfits. She raced from the bathroom, running straight into Veronica. "Mama, jammie ti'e."

"Is that like Hammer time?"

She screwed up her face in that 'mommy-makes-no-sense' frown and then dismissed her with a "Silly Mama," before continuing her rush to her room.

Logan had Bailey in one arm and was adding bubbles to the bathwater with the other. The baby was in a hooded towel, her head resting on Daddy's shoulder, sucking her fist. She pumped her legs and grinned when she saw Veronica. Logan's expression was not that beguiling. "Hey, Sweet Gypsy Rose, want to tell me why there's a stripper pole in the garage?"

"Because it didn't go with the bedroom curtains." She took Bailey from him, holding her close and inhaling the scent of fresh, clean baby. "Where are Pam and Tyler?"

"I took them home an hour ago."

The baby was nuzzling her breast and opening her mouth. "Did Bailey eat?" Even as she asked the question, Veronica lifted the hem of her shirt.

"At dinnertime… like the rest of us."

With his disappearance on Sunday, he'd lost the right to make snippy comments about her missing dinner. "Looks like you've got this all under control; I'll leave you to it." She turned on her heel to leave and Logan put a staying hand on her shoulder. Without turning back, she angled her face to see him and waited.

He cupped her face and brushed his thumb over her cheek. "What about you, did you have dinner?"

Tender, caring Logan was hard to resist. "I was going to stop at In-N-Out, but I…didn't." She almost said,  _I forgot_ , but Logan would take her forgetting to eat as a sign of the apocalypse.

"Dottie made chicken parm; I left a plate for you in the microwave." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "There's garlic bread too."

"Thanks, but I think I'm going to put Bailey to bed and then take my own hot bath."

"Your bath might have to wait because—"

Wyatt chose then to return, carrying an armful of clothes. She dumped them all on the bathroom floor. "Jammies!"

There was a bathing suit bottom, a pair of leggings, an electric blue tutu, and one sock. Veronica grinned at the assortment. "Good luck with that," she muttered to Logan as she left the bathroom with the baby.

Bringing Bailey to their bedroom, she finished nursing, and then put her in a pair of  _actual_  pajamas. She turned off the lights and settled into the comfort rocker to start Bay's nighttime ritual of needing motion to fall asleep. Closing her eyes, she rubbed the baby's back, and hummed a lullaby.

Veronica was just drifting off herself when the doorbell rang. Frowning, she gingerly stood and put Bailey in the co-sleeper and then went to get the door. She checked the security monitor — _Mac_ — before disarming the alarm system. Her arrival explained why the hot bath was going to have to wait. She must have called Logan earlier when Veronica failed to respond to the voicemails on her cell.

"Let me guess- you had all the background checks done by dinner?"

"I'm here to babysit." Her eyes swept over Veronica's yoga pants, sweaty t-shirt, and ratty hair as she walked inside. "Logan said you were going out."

"Not me. The only place I'm going is bed." She relocked the door. "But since you're here, let me get you the name of the Air Force base."

"I don't need…" Mac leaned to the side, peering into the kitchen and then glanced down the hall. "Where's Logan?"

"Getting Wyatt ready for bed. Did you already finish the background check on Pam?"

"No, because one of the first things that popped was this." Mac slid a sheet of paper from her laptop case and handed it to Veronica.

It was a printout of a tabloid article. The headline read:  _Like Mother, Like Son_. A picture of Logan exiting a church with Pam at his side bore the caption:  _Logan Echolls and his girlfriend, Pam Mitchell, leaving a Narcotics Anonymous meeting_. Veronica crumpled the paper in her fist. "I can't—"

Mac cut her off. "Are you investigating  _Logan_?"


	7. Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?

CHAPTER SEVEN

_No_ ,  _of course not_. The denial was right there, but was it the truth?  _Am I investigating Logan?_  If this was just a regular case, she would have looked into Pam —blindly trusting her client was a mistake she'd made before and one she wouldn't repeat— but would she have asked for everything? Even when helping Trina, she didn't ask Mac to go beyond the boundaries of what could be useful to the case. This time she'd had no qualms about digging up anything- even if it involved her husband.

"I wish I could explain it to you Mac, but I can't right now. Just trust me, this isn't about Logan." Veronica glanced at the balled up paper in her hand. "At least not directly."

"Logan wouldn't cheat on you." Mac took the article from her, hiding it back in her bag. "Even with an ex."

A mute nod was her only response. Loretta told her to set personal boundaries before stripping at the club. It was good advice, but also unnecessary. Veronica was an expert at setting boundaries. Logan cheating on her would cross that line into unforgivable territory and there would be no coming back. This life, their marriage, the kids, meant too much to him to even consider approaching that line. It was an unassailable fact.

"I have to go say goodnight to Wyatt."

Veronica rushed past Mac, heading for the hall, but her steps slowed as she approached Wyatt's bedroom door. Logan was reading a bedtime story "…a pancake."

"With 'nanas?"

"I don't know; I think pigs like corn in their pancakes."

"No, Daddy- 'nanas."

Veronica smiled. Leaving them to finish the book, she detoured to the master suite. The cool, dark bedroom was quiet except for the gentle whirring of the fan and an occasional grunt from a sleeping Bailey. She crossed through the dark space to the closet, slipping inside and waiting until the door was closed behind her before turning on the light.

Logan gave her his journal before he proposed. The small leather-bound book was more valuable than the expensive engagement ring he gave her a month later. Logan quite literally became an open book to her, sharing all his secrets and the dark places in his head. She'd wanted to marry him in a general, abstract kind of way —she loved him, they were living together and having a baby, so why not— but his willingness to be completely honest with her, turned the abstract into a concrete  _I want to marry this man_.

It was on the top shelf inside a shoe box. With her fingertips she nudged the box closer to the edge. It was almost in reaching distance.  _'I let you read my journal… I confessed and you're judging me.'_ Logan's earlier words stopped her and she dropped her arm to her side.

Using the information inside those pages to investigate Pam skirted very close to a betrayal of trust. There were things Logan wanted and needed from her. Two of the biggest were the ones she'd withheld in the past- love and trust. Veronica didn't want to go back to those days. If she took this one step how long would it be before she was tracing his cell and installing a GPS tracker in his car?

"Looking for something to wear?" Logan was leaning against the door jamb. Veronica rushed him, grabbing a fistful of his tee shirt and yanking him into the closet with her. He leered at her. "Ooh, are we going to play Seven Minutes in Heaven?"

Rolling her eyes, she gently closed the door. "I don't want the light to wake the little eating machine."

"Funny, but I thought  _you_  were the little eating machine." He ran his hands down her arms to her waist and drew her closer. "You know" —he glanced around the small space— "I don't think I've ever had sex in a closet before." With each word, his fingers inched higher, disappearing beneath her shirt. He stroked her skin and kissed her neck. "Well, unless you count second base with Tammy Forrester… which I don't."

Veronica pushed at his shoulder, breaking the lip and skin contact. "And it's not going to happen now."

Logan hung his head in mock disappointment. "Guess I shouldn't have brought up Tammy, huh?"

"Or asked Mac to come babysit."

He withdrew his hands from beneath her shirt, eyes rounding with sadness. His disappointment was real. It wasn't about the sex —not entirely— but the need to be close to her, to reconnect. Veronica relented, allowing her body to relax into him; she rested her head on his chest and slid her arms around his waist. He tightened his hold on her.

"Why  _did_  you ask Mac to babysit?"

"Usual reason- I want to take my wife out." Logan kissed the top of her head.

"Dinner and dancing?"

"Uh… there'll be some dancing," he hedged.

Smelling a rat, she lifted her head to see his face. His eyes were pinned to the shelf above her left shoulder, refusing to make contact. Veronica's gaze narrowed. "What did you do?"

He let her go and took a step back. "We can fight about it in the car."

Folding her arms over her chest, she raised her chin and scowled at him. "Let's save some time and fight about it now, then I can put on my pajamas and go to bed."

"You said we'd talk after the girls went to sleep."

Veronica was pretty sure that tonight's talk was on  _his_  agenda, not hers. "We don't need to go out to—"

Logan cut her off her protest with a decisive, "But we are." Taking another step away, he turned on his heel and slipped from the closet, knowing Bailey's presence in their bedroom prevented her from stalking after him to demand answers.

With a mutinous glare at the door, she sat heavily on the upholstered bench. Fifteen minutes. Experience said that was how long she had to decide before Logan would come looking for her. She could either get ready to go out or prepare to make her final stand in a closet.

It wasn't worth it.

She pulled a lacy halter top from a nearby hanger, grabbed her favorite strappy sandals, and went in search of a pair of black skinny jeans. Trying to locate said jeans quietly and in the dark cut her fifteen minutes in half. She used her remaining time to rinse off, braid her wet hair, and get dressed.

Logan had changed too. The casual sweats were gone and in their place was a pair of well-worn jeans and Frye boots. He'd completed the outfit with a dark green fitted Henley left open at the collar.  _Maybe going out wasn't such a bad idea_.

As they sized each other up, Mac made gagging noises. Logan either didn't hear — _impossible_ — or he chose to ignore her, so focused on his slow perusal of Veronica. "We'll be home late."

Veronica shook her head. "Not that late."

" _Very_  late," Logan corrected.

"Well go already," Mac said, giving them both a one-handed push toward the front hall.

"Eager for us to leave?" Logan arched a brow. "You're not planning an unchaperoned party are you?"

"Absolutely, the kegs are in my trunk and all my friends are waiting in the bushes," Mac deadpanned. "So try not to be home before midnight, okay?"

Veronica paused at the alarm pad, reminding Mac to check the doors to the deck, and to arm the security system. Once outside, she waited for the reassuring slide of the deadbolt behind her and the comforting beeps from the alarm. Then she turned to Logan. "Ready to tell me where we're going?"

"First I'm going to feed you." He held open her door. "French dip from The Spot?"

He'd chosen his location well. Only a few blocks from a quiet, cliffside park, the restaurant offered a to-go menu and he could trap her in the car with cheesy, chorizo potato skins.  _Well played- one point to Logan_.

Veronica slid into the passenger seat without comment. He took her silence as acquiescence, climbing behind the wheel and driving to the restaurant. It was a short trip made interminably long by the quiet. She smirked.  _You can tempt Veronica with food, but you can't make her talk_.

When he asked her if she wanted something with her sandwich, she just shrugged. His mouth twitched with the hint of a smile at her game of silence. "Have it your way, but I'm getting potato skins and a milkshake with my sandwich."

Her traitorous stomach growled and he laughed. The look she gave him clearly told him what she thought of his amusement -  _jackass_.

Logan leaned into the car and kissed her nose. "I love you too, snookums."

She averted her face, only turning back once he'd made his way into the restaurant. It would serve him right if she drove away and left him stranded here, but she really wanted that French Dip. She'd skipped lunch and dinner and the only thing she'd had for breakfast were the soggy remains of Wyatt's cereal.

He returned with two disproportionate bags and handed her the  _much_  smaller one. Securing his larger bag between his knees, he started the car and drove to the park. The spot he chose was a distance from the other cars with a clear view to the ocean. He turned off the car and emptied the contents of his bag —a large milkshake, garlic-parmesan fries, pretzel sticks with jalapeno cheese dipping sauce, and the promised potato skins— balancing each item on the dashboard and sticking the shake in the cup holder.

Veronica rolled her eyes. It was a transparent ploy. There was no way her health-conscious, kale-eating husband was going to consume all those calories. She unwrapped her sandwich, which seemed to have shrunk during the short drive.

"Pam said you should be ready to audition by the end of the week." Logan popped a fry in his mouth, slowly chewing while staring at her. "My first shift as bouncer is Friday night."

Gritting her teeth, she dropped her sandwich on the bag spread across her lap. "We weren't done talking about it."

"That's rich," he muttered under his breath. "It's not really up for discussion, Veronica; if you're dancing there, then I'm going to work the door." Logan jabbed a fry in her direction. "Do you know what goes on inside some strip clubs? Because I do."

"I'm not exactly a naïve runaway from the Midwest." He winced and she belatedly remembered the scrawny, addicted Jane from his journal. Shared or separate, their past was never far from the surface and now it was standing between them. A physical presence keeping them at odds. She sighed. "What name did you use?"

At least he was starting at the club before her. If they both started on the same day, it would create a link between them in their co-workers memory. The only problem was a cover story for him. His partnership with Trina in Echo Films ensured Logan's name was published in any story surrounding her movies. The same stories invariably mentioned his connection to Aaron. Fortunately, Logan's naval career usurped the tales of bum fights and murder accusations, but he wasn't exactly unrecognizable.

"I didn't give them a name; they pay their bouncers under the table. Pam will just introduce me as an old friend from Vegas."

She was shaking her head before he finished speaking. "Too risky, they're going to think she called you as protection."

"Maybe." No longer facing her, he was staring through the windshield at the ocean. He picked up the milkshake, took a sip and fiddled with the straw, sliding it in and out of the hole in the plastic lid.

Her shoulders slumped and she poked at the remaining half of her sandwich, appetite gone. Evasive and fidgety meant he was withholding information. Her mistrust of Pam and bringing up Mercer had made him retreat and she didn't know how to fix things. Pretending everything was okay would only be a lie.

"What's wrong?" He asked, touching her cheek, fingertips stroking across her skin and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I don't want us to be on opposite sides."

"We don't have to be" —he shifted in his seat to stare at her— "Because this isn't Neptune High and we're not seventeen anymore."

Tilting her head, she evaluated his words. No, they weren't teenagers. They were grownups with a marriage and children and a burgeoning ability to compromise. They were never going to agree on the Tyler issue. Logan wanted to take it on faith and she needed facts. But they didn't have to declare war. Correction,  _she_  didn't have to declare war. They could reach détente on Pam's case at least. It was a start.

"Okay," she agreed, leaning over the center console to kiss him. While he was distracted, she stole the potato skins, broke the kiss, and settled back in her seat with her ill-gotten gains. "Now tell me where we're going tonight."

His gaze swung from the potatoes in her hand to the empty spot on the dashboard. "You know you could be charged with petty theft by trick for that move."

She shrugged. "But you like it when I'm stealthy, remember." Veronica took a large bite of a potato skin, letting the warm cheddar cheese and spicy sausage slide over her tongue.

"No" —he licked the cheese from the corner of her mouth— "I didn't say I liked it; I said it turned me on."

"You have such a way with words." She kissed him again and reached for the milkshake, but this time he got there first, planting his palm firmly across the lid and trapping it inside the cup holder. Veronica nipped at his bottom lip and pulled away. "You think you know me so well."

"I do." A suggestive leer and a bob of his eyebrows said he was talking about more than her attempt to steal his drink. "The proof, as they say, is in the milkshake." Keeping his palm across the plastic lid, he used his other hand to grasp her fingers and remove her hand from the cup. He then picked it up and took a slow, deliberate sip. "Mmm."

She scrunched her nose and pouted. "I'm thirsty."

"And I'm incapable of resisting you," he said with an exaggerated, showy sigh as he passed her the milkshake. "It's a good thing I love demanding women with big blue eyes who pout when they don't get their way."

"I don't pout."

"Whatever you say, Veronica." Logan reached for the remaining fries and pretzel sticks and balanced both on her side of the dashboard. "You don't pout and I don't surrender to your every whim."

"Hardly. If you did surrender to my every whim, you'd give up your crazy idea of being bouncer  _and_  you'd tell me where we're going tonight instead of being evasive."

"One and the same."

"Way to be cryptic," she groused.

"Haven't you heard- women like a man of mystery."

"You should only be concerned with one woman and in case you haven't heard- I'm pretty good at unraveling a mystery." She returned the milkshake to the cup holder. "And I'm not going to a strip club with you."

His mouth curved in the slight, appreciative smile that made her hot and tingly. "When did you figure it out?"

"Please" —she waved a dismissive hand— "I unraveled you a long time ago: some dancing, home very late, I know what goes on inside some strip clubs."

"You do unravel me," his voice dropped to a seductive whisper as he nuzzled her neck with his nose and kissed her collarbone. "I love you, Veronica Mars, but" —he straightened, moving away from her, and his pitch returned to normal— "We  _are_  going to a strip club. You need to see that my idea is not crazy."

She arched a brow. "Are you just trying to sell me on your bouncer plan or are you trying to scare me out of dancing at Shenanigans?"

Logan's enigmatic smile was answer enough.

Strip clubs were one of the frequent stops on the train of sleaze Veronica followed in pursuit of cheating spouses. Sometimes it was the pre-game show before said cheater would hit the meat-market bar and the cheap motel, but sometimes it was the final destination after striking out earlier in the evening. Occasionally, the wayward spouses would bring their "dates" to the strip club with them- a foreplay shortcut? Veronica shrugged.

If Logan wanted to waste his time trying to make her change her mind, she wasn't going to stop him. She'd already resigned herself to the fact that he wasn't going to change  _his_  mind. "How are you planning to make people believe that Logan Echolls needs work as a bouncer?"

"I can be very convincing."

She rolled her eyes. "I need more specifics than just your overconfident smugness."

"I'll let them think what you said- that Pam called me to help her. Keep the lie as close to the truth as possible, right?" Flippant, was the best way to describe his tone and that was never a good sign.

He started the car and she grabbed the carton of soft pretzel sticks from the dash before they fell. She dragged one through the cheese sauce. "And why would you…" The pieces clicked into place. Her lips flattened into a grim line. "You're going to let them believe you're Tyler's father."

"I can't control what people think."

Veronica gathered up the remaining food and threw it in the empty sack. She could feel Logan shooting concerned glances at her, afraid he'd set off yet another argument. It made sense. Pam called her son's father, explained that they were in danger, and he came running to help. It's what Veronica thought, so why wouldn't everyone else.

Now she would get to listen to the other dancers speculate about Pam's relationship with Logan —he's Tyler's father, were they married, think they're still sleeping together?  _Not Neptune High, my ass_. The gossip would be worse than anything Carrie or Madison could create because this time some of it would be true.

The "gentlemen's club" he drove them to — _Teasers_ —was an outcropping of neon lights and loud music in a sea of car dealerships and strip malls. Was it a rule? Did all stripclubs need a suggestive or salacious name to stay in business? Logan pulled into the crowded parking lot, slowing to a cruise in search of a spot.

Despite it being a regular jaunt, she'd actually never been inside a strip club during working hours. Twice, she'd planted secret cameras in the private rooms —Chris Rock was wrong; sometimes there  _is_  sex in the champagne room— and gone back in the morning to retrieve her pictures. "So how many times have you been to a strip club? I don't need exact numbers- more than twenty, less than fifty?"

Logan muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like  _landmine_  before saying, "Navy and friends with Dick."

She smirked. "That many, huh?"

Without waiting for a response, she grabbed her purse from the floor and pushed open the car door. Logan met her at the trunk, enfolding her hand in his for the walk to the club. Music spilled from the open doors along with a group of drunk, rowdy guys. They jostled each other, bumping shoulders, and passing around a pack of cigarettes.

One of the guys spoke around the cigarette dangling from his mouth, "Hey Ed, maybe your future wife will come to the strip club with you." He jerked his chin toward Veronica, a broad smile on his face.

Not taking his eyes off Veronica, Ed punched his friend's arm and muttered, "Yeah like that'll happen."

Veronica leaned closer to Logan. "I'm not buying this future wife story; I don't think any of them have ever been this close to a girl before."

"Uh, are you planning to have me fight an entire bachelor party to defend you and your sassy mouth?" His eyes flicked to the group, taking their measure. "Because I'll gladly oblige, but we're still going inside when I'm done."

She shrugged. "You have your turn-ons and I have mine."

The corner of his mouth twitched and he shook his head. Withdrawing his wallet, he paid the cover charge and then handed her a stack of bills before hustling her through the double doors. A Ludacris song was just starting:  _Shake your money maker like somebody 'bout to pay ya… If you want it, come get it, stand next to this money like eh, eh, eh._ A busty brunette wearing nothing but a black G-string, five inch, clear acrylic heels, and pieces of black electrical tape in an x over each of her nipples was on the stage, shaking her money maker.

There were two empty stools at the thin counter surrounding the stage and Veronica made her way toward them. Logan grabbed her hand, reeling her back to his side and away from the chairs. Ducking his head, he pressed his lips to her ear. "We're not sitting at the rail."

"Why not?" She questioned, following him up a short staircase to the second level of the club. An array of two-top and four-top pub tables was arranged in a single file ring with clear views to the stage.

The third level of the club housed the DJ behind a glass window and offered large black leather booths for bigger groups. It also had the bar- a long stretch of wood and mirrors with a quartz countertop and neon lights. Girls were sliding and twisting around poles placed at strategic intervals along its surface.

Logan guided her to an empty table for two. "The rail is a gallery of pervs."

"So Dick's regular spot then?" She scanned the counter. They were all single guys with their heads tilted back and their eyes glued to the stage. A new dancer was starting her set. She was decked out in one of the costumes Veronica had rejected – the plaid schoolgirl skirt with a white button-down blouse knotted above her navel, and a black lace bra.

Veronica zeroed in on one guy at the rail. He had a line of five dollar bills spread in front of him and a twenty tucked next to his drink. Two fingers were resting on the first bill and each time the dancer did a new move, he inched the bill closer to the stage, but didn't release it. When she moved away from him, he pulled the bill back a hair. She circled the pole and did a slut drop in front of him, spreading her legs, and then snapping her knees closed. He pushed the five onto the stage.  _Gross_. "I wonder what would earn the twenty."

Logan turned his head, following her line of sight. "You don't want to know."

"Why? Isn't that the point of this entire outing- to make me change my mind?"

Before he could answer, the dancer with the electrical tape nipples appeared next to his chair and offered him a lap dance. Logan shook his head. Leaning in closer, she whispered something in his ear that made him smile, but he shook his head again. Then he handed her a ten and she moved away.

When he turned back to Veronica, his smile disappeared, and he picked up the conversation as if they hadn't been interrupted. "He probably wants to cop a feel —a hand up her skirt or down her bra— before he parts with his twenty. See all the guys who are wearing Adidas warm-up pants, loose-fitting shorts, or sweatpants? They're probably going commando because they're looking to come during a lap dance or they're going to jerk off under the tables."

Veronica looked around the club, confirming there were  _a lot_  of guys wearing the  _exact_  outfit he'd described. Another dancer started to approach their table and Logan waved her off before she reached his chair. "There's even a company that sells pants  _specifically_  for lap dances – they have a latex crotch and you can lube up your dick before leaving the house- they guarantee an orgasm from a lap dance or your money back."

Gross would be an understatement. Her nose crinkled in distaste. "I think I'm afraid to ask how you know this."

"Because strippers are people, Veronica, and just like the rest of us, they bitch about their jobs. I've heard them warn the other girls about the creeps, like the guy who pokes his dick out of the top of his shorts so she'll touch it." His nostrils flared and he clenched his jaw, flattening his lips into a thin line. "And let's not forget the ones who think these women owe them more than a dance."

She put a calming hand on his arm. "Okay, I get it."

"Do you?" His eyes searched her face with an unsettling intensity. He was pushing her to think about things she wasn't ready to acknowledge let alone examine in detail.

To end the conversation, she nodded in agreement. "Now enough with the hard sell, Echolls." She patted his cheek. "You can come play undercover detective with me."

"Veronica." Her name was half plea and half resignation.

Turning away from his troubled eyes, she scanned the room. "What say we call back your scantily clad friend and get you a lap dance?"

"Not gonna happen."

Electrical tape was busy riding some other guy's lap. Veronica watched her work; cataloging her moves and the easy way she kept removing the guy's hands from her thighs without losing her smile, or rhythm. She glanced at Logan. "What did she whisper to you anyway?"

"That I should buy  _you_  a dance." There was no eyebrow bob or suggestive leer or sexy smirk to accompany the remark.  _Not good_. If Logan was ignoring his opportunity to have a nearly naked chick rub herself all over his wife, he was too focused on their conversation.

"A dance for me, huh? There's an idea." Veronica searched the club for the right dancer. Every other girl was a blonde, but she was looking for just the right distraction. Logan didn't think he had a type, but he did and she knew it well. "The blonde at the end of the bar in the skimpy black shorts and bikini top."

Raising his head, he found the dancer she described. "No, Veronica."

She ignored him, making eye contact with the blonde and waving her over.

The dancer made her way through the club; a wide smile on her face and a calculating look in her eyes as she sized up Logan. Veronica stared at her husband, trying to see him like a stripper would. Clean-cut, not wearing the creepy loose pants, here with a woman, and —with his designer jeans, four hundred dollar boots, and expensive watch— obviously wealthy. Appearances said he'd be safe and have money to burn.

"Dance?" The blonde addressed the question to Logan.

"Not me," he answered, standing and jutting his chin toward Veronica. "It's for her." He pulled two twenties from his front pocket and tossed them on the table. "I'll be at the bar."

Veronica tracked his movement across the room. This wasn't turning out the way she wanted.

Logan's departure didn't stop the lap dance. The blonde was dancing between Veronica's spread legs, rotating her hips in time with the music. She slowly turned, put her hands on Veronica's knees and lowered her bottom into Veronica's lap. Her hips started to grind in a circular motion right in time to R. Kelly's words,  _I don't see nothing wrong with a little bump and grind_.

"He's watching," the dancer informed her, raising her voice to be heard over the music. "Touch me and make his night." As she spoke, she lifted Veronica's hands and put them on her chest.

Veronica glanced at the bar. Logan was leaning against it; his back to the bartender and his eyes focused on her. He was too far for her to judge his expression. She was hoping for the dilated pupils, rapid pulse, and labored breathing —signs he was enjoying the show— but was afraid she'd find the pinched eyes and tight lips that said he was still annoyed.

The dance ended with the song and the stripper plucked her forty bucks off the table, tucking it into her minuscule shorts. She tossed the words, "Good luck," over her shoulder as she walked away in search of her next customer.

Logan took his time returning. "Are you done or do you want to put on another show for the guys in the back?"

She angled her head to look up at him. This was a mix she hadn't seen in a long time- angry, jealous,  _and_  turned on. There was also a hint of worry, or maybe it was concern. Either way, Veronica chose to ignore it. Standing, she slipped her hand beneath his shirt and stroked her fingers over his bare stomach. "The show was for you."

"Really?" His eyebrows hit his hairline and then collapsed into a tight-knit frown. "Because I'm pretty sure this is all about you." His hand encircled her wrist, stilling her movements. "What's going on, Veronica?"

"Nothing." Pulling her hand from his grip, she turned and grabbed her purse from the table. Without another word, she stalked from the club. Logan gave chase. She could feel him behind her as she barreled through the door and marched across the parking lot.

"Will you just stop and talk to me?"

Veronica whirled on him. "I don't want to talk; I want to fuck."

With a slow shake of his head, he closed the small gap between them. "No, you don't." He rested his hands on her shoulders.

Thrusting out her chin, she hissed air through gritted teeth. "Well, not anymore."

"Not at all." He gently rubbed her shoulders. "I may not know what's going on inside that head of yours, but I  _do_  know when my wife is in the mood." He nipped her earlobe and kissed down the side of her neck while his hands smoothed across her back and over her ass, pulling her closer.

"Logan." It was supposed to be a protest, but her body betrayed her by snuggling closer to him. She tilted her head, baring her neck and his mouth closed over the hollow of her collarbone.

"See, now we're getting warm," he murmured against her skin. Effortlessly, he lifted her from the ground and she wrapped her legs around him, squeezing his hips between her thighs. She shoved her fingers in his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers.

He staggered forward a few steps to the car and sat her on the passenger window, freeing his hands so he could touch her. The belt molding of the car window was digging into her thighs, but she didn't care because Logan was doing incredible things with his tongue. The man definitely knew how to kiss.

His thumbs brushed over her nipples and she arched into his touch, gripping the back of his neck to keep her balance. Logan nipped her bottom lip. "You are so sexy like this." Lowering his head, he sucked her nipple through her shirt. "This is what I want, Veronica. No games, or props, or other women- just you."

Dropping her legs from his waist, she slid off the car, and pushed him away. "We need to go home now." At his confused and wounded look, she smiled and patted the side of the convertible. "No backseat."

An answering smile from him and he kissed her nose. "Home it is then."


	8. Paint It Black

CHAPTER EIGHT

Last night was a reprieve from her troubling thoughts, but this morning they crowded back in with the soft beep of Logan's personal alarm clock. Through slitted eyes she watched him get ready for work, bouncing from bed with a smile and whistling in the shower. His relaxed and happy mood only made hers blacker.

She continued to feign sleep while he dressed in his black Brioni suit. It probably cost more than his coworkers made in a month- a fact that suddenly irritated her. "So you're okay with other women stripping just not your wife?"

Logan's hands stilled on his tie. "Good morning to you too, sunshine."

"You know those other women are somebody's wife or girlfriend or  _daughter,_ but it's fine for you to go watch  _them_  strip?"

"Not go" —he resumed knotting his tie— " _have_  gone. In the past. Prior to last night, it's been years since I was inside a strip club." Tilting her head, she pursed her lips and raised a skeptical eyebrow, making Logan grin. "I'm a highly evolved male who happens to be married to Veronica Mars and knows better than to visit such establishments."

She huffed, falling back on the pillows to stare at the ceiling. It was infuriating.  _He_  was infuriating, refusing to rise to the bait and give her the argument she wanted. She sat up and tried again. "And if we weren't married, would you be sleeping with Pam?"

"But we  _are_ , in fact, married." His non-answer grated. She opened her mouth to argue and he shook his head. "Stop spoiling for a fight, Veronica." Logan shrugged into his suit jacket, leaned over the bed and kissed her nose. "Breakfast?"

Veronica grunted in response, tossing back the covers and swinging her legs off the mattress. She winced as she stood, calf muscles clenching and her knees wobbled.

He put a steadying hand on her arm. "Are you okay?"

"Guess I'm a little sore from yesterday." A smug smile crossed Logan's face and she batted his hand away. "I meant from the pole dancing."

Smirk firmly in place, he spread out his hands and shrugged. "If that's what you want to tell yourself, pumpkin."

Rolling her eyes, she pushed her way past him, heading for the bathroom. A hot, massaging shower would loosen her muscles, even if it did nothing for her mood. She'd just have to fake friendly and perky for today's dance lesson with Pam.

"Hey." Logan slipped an arm around her waist —palm flat against her belly— and pulled her to his chest, nuzzling her neck. "Want me to play hooky? I could join you in the shower and, uh, give you a good rub down."

Her lips twitched and she bit back a grin before turning in his arms. His eyes caressed her face and he dipped his head forward; a tender, soft smile flirting with the corners of his mouth. It was an unfair advantage. The sexiness and the charm and the depth of his feelings reflected in his warm gaze. It was easier just to surrender.

Veronica laid her head on his chest, inhaling the scent- woods and citrus and Logan. "It's a tempting offer."

"Perhaps a preview?" He ghosted his fingertips up her arms, making her shiver, and then gently started to rub her shoulders. His hand moved to the nape of her neck, increasing the pressure to knead the tight ball of muscle between her shoulder blades.

"Mmm," she sighed, closing her eyes.

The pleasant image of a steam shower for two evaporated beneath the sound of rattling coming from the baby monitors. Veronica's eyes snapped open.

"Time get up, Wabbit!"

Simultaneously, their heads whipped toward the nightstand. "She's talking to Cuddles, right?"

"I don't" —Logan's reply was interrupted by Bailey's whimpering cry— "think so."

"There goes our shower." Veronica thumped her forehead against his chest in frustration. "We were this close." She held up her hand, thumb and forefinger separated by a hair.

He squeezed her shoulders and planted a kiss on her forehead. "You shower and I'll go feed our little mischief-makers." His fingers brushed her cheek. "Think of me while you're in there." Lowering his lips to her ear, he whispered, "Or don't, but know this, I'll be thinking about you- naked and soapy and wet."

Veronica swallowed and he smirked before turning on his heel and leaving the room. She stared after him. Angry to turned on to frustrated in a span of seconds; it had to be a new record for her.

"Daddy!" Wyatt's voice boomed from the baby monitor. "Wabbit cwying."

"Gee, how did that happen?"

Their daughter's sweet and innocent, "Dunno," made Logan chuckle.

"You don't know, huh?" Silence followed his question and then Wyatt's giggling could be heard over a new round of crying from Bailey. It was the high-pitched, squealing laughter that only happened during tickle-time.

Smiling, Veronica shook her head at their antics and walked into the bathroom. It was still amazing to her. How the guarded, distrustful, and wary Logan Echolls was entirely different with their daughters. Very few people got to see the man who acted out bedtime stories and wore feather boas for fancy teas. The one who cried the first time he held a newborn Wyatt and who walked the floor for hours without complaint, cradling a colicky Bailey.

If he was Tyler's father, that tender, loving, and patient side would be another part of Logan she'd have to share with Pam.

Veronica reached for his hairbrush. Picking it up, she turned the handmade, expensive grooming brush between her fingers. While easy to collect, if there was no root attached to the shaft, hair wouldn't provide the DNA sample she wanted. Chances were slim that hair shed while brushing or showering would contain the needed follicles.

His toothbrush was a possibility. Veronica sighed. It would be easier if she could just ask him to open up and say  _aah_. A buccal swab of the inside of his cheek, another swab from Tyler, and she could have the results in a few days.

Her eyes alighted on the garbage can.

Breastfeeding limited their birth control choices. Her regular pills contained estrogen, which was harmful to milk supply and, lucky her, progestin did the same thing so no mini-pill, IUD or Depo-Provera either. No baby number three meant condoms for Logan until Bailey was weaned.

Veronica sat on the toilet and tilted the wastebasket forward. The used condom from last night was right on top. Gnawing her bottom lip, she let go of the can, watching it rock backward and wobble into place.

Enough dawdling. She stripped off her tee shirt and turned on the shower. Logan might enjoy all aspects of fatherhood, but leaving him alone to feed two picky eaters when he needed to finish getting ready for work was unacceptable.

_Unacceptable like taking your husband's used condom for a secret DNA test?_

It wouldn't have to be secret if he'd just volunteer to do it. She'd given him an opportunity to offer, but instead he'd spouted his new party line,  _I trust Pam_. Granted, Veronica could  _ask_  him outright —do this for me— and she'd probably get instant compliance, but she didn't think she should have to. Logan should just  _know_.

She lathered up the loofah and washed. This was definitely not what Logan had in mind when he suggested she think of him in the shower - contemplating ethical dilemmas and moral questions pertaining to their marriage. Veronica rinsed the conditioner from her hair.

Tricking her father into a blood sample when she was seventeen was different. It was a quest to know something about  _herself_  and in the end it didn't matter anyway. Biology alone didn't turn a man into a father and Keith was her dad, no matter the DNA. This time, she was trying to learn something about  _Logan_  without his knowledge and the answer  _did_  matter. Mattered enough that she suspected there would be no shredding the test results.

If accepting the unknown was the right decision then, what was the right choice now?

Turning off the water, she stepped from the shower and grabbed a towel, drying off on her walk to the bedroom. She donned a pair of spandex micro-shorts and a matching black sports bra for her pole dancing lesson with Pam. Gathering her wet hair into a ponytail, she went to relieve Logan of breakfast duty.

"Toffee?" Wyatt pointed to Logan's coffee mug.

"Okay, but eat another piece of your waffle first."

She picked up a quarter of her dry waffle, folded up the ends and bit the tip. Veronica grinned. In order to do away with maple syrup, Logan had convinced Wyatt that waffles were 'breakfast pizza' and only needed a little powdered sugar and fruit. Each time he made them, he put less sugar and more fruit and so far she was buying his ruse.

"Wabbit toffee?"

Logan shook his head. "She's too little for coffee."

Veronica checked the time on the wall clock —twenty minutes until he had to leave— and leaned on the doorjamb to watch daddy-daughter breakfast time. Adding Tyler to the mix would change things. Aside from the practical —custody schedules, child support, and giving up her office so Tyler would have a bedroom— there was the effect it would have on the girls. Bailey would be okay. She was too little to notice the shift, but Wyatt was another story.

"What are you going to do at the science center today?" Logan asked while adding strawberry slices to her next piece of waffle.

Wyatt's brow furrowed. Tilting her head, she sucked the tip of her finger while she considered his question. Her face brightened and she popped her finger loose. "Haf lunch Daddy!"

Chuckling, Logan leaned over to kiss her nose. "But what are you going to do  _before_  I meet you for lunch? Play on the fire truck and build with the big blocks?"

She shrugged as if it didn't matter; she'd already remembered the most important part of her day- lunch with Logan.

Veronica frowned. How many changes were too many for Wyatt? Never mind the normal like learning to walk and potty-training, in her short years she'd had to deal with deployment, becoming a big sister, Logan's return to work, and an attempt on her life. Dr. Feelgood said she was well-adjusted, intelligent, and happy, but would the addition of Tyler to their family prove too much for Wyatt?

Logan tossed a burp cloth over his shoulder. Setting down the empty baby bottle, he put Bailey on his chest and started to rub her back. After a few seconds of patting, he was rewarded with a loud burp, which made Wyatt giggle.

Veronica tracked his movement as he put Bay in the baby carrier and stood, but instead of following him across the kitchen, her gaze landed on the empty baby bottle. It then moved to the unopened package of glass bottles on the counter and to the sterilizer.

"Hey, how was your show… what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Veronica faked a bright smile. "You know, Rabbit's not the only one who's too little for coffee."

"Too late- you've already stunted your growth." He leaned a hip against the counter; an appreciative smile accompanying his slow perusal of her body. "Not that I'm complaining."

She rolled her eyes and nodded toward Wyatt. Logan mouthed the word  _'milk'_  before turning to the espresso machine. He started the steam wand and immersed it in a small pitcher of milk. Once it was done, he poured cold milk into a coffee mug and then topped it with a trace amount of the steamed version.

"Here's your coffee, Jellybean; just the way Mommy likes it." He smirked at Veronica. "A lot of milk and very little coffee."

Wyatt eyed the cup. "Hot?" Logan shook his head and she picked up the mug, cradling it between her palms. She took a sip, lowered the mug, and smiled beneath her frothy milk mustache. "Good toffee."

Milk sloshed over the rim as she thumped the cup down on the table and picked up another piece of waffle. Veronica kissed the top of her head. "I love you, sweet pea."

"Love Mama." She raised her face to see Veronica and then pointed at Logan. "Kiss kiss fish."

Apparently Wyatt didn't want a repeat of yesterday's breakfast. There was going to be no fighting between Mommy and Daddy on her watch. Sometimes their daughter was too clever for her own good. Veronica followed instructions, leaning over to give Logan a kiss. He took advantage of the opportunity, cupping her ass and deepening the kiss.

When they broke apart, Veronica nipped his bottom lip. "How much did you pay her for that assist?"

"A lifetime supply of chocolate chip" —he lowered his voice to a whisper— "cookies, but it was totally worth it."

"Sucker." She moved away from him. "I would have done more than kiss you if you'd offered  _me_  a lifetime supply of say… ice cream."

Logan smiled. "Wasn't that already in our wedding vows? Something like, I promise to love, honor, and allow my wife to eat all the ice cream in the house, including mine?"

"Glad you were paying attention." She filled a pot with water and set it on the stove. Opening the package of glass baby bottles, she took them apart, first unscrewing the collars and then popping out the sealing disks and nipples.

"I thought you were going to return those?"

"Changed my mind; the Mimijumi's are expensive." Veronica thoroughly washed everything with warm, soapy water, rinsed all the pieces, and then put them in the pot to boil.

While she worked, Logan continued his breakfast conversation with Wyatt, but each time Veronica glanced over to them, she found Logan watching her. It was disconcerting. The small fold between his eyebrows and his thoughtful stare solving her like a puzzle.

He drained his mug and got up from the table. "It's off to work with me." Squatting next to Wyatt's chair, he gave her a hug and a kiss. "Be good for Nana Dot and I'll see you at lunch."

"Okay, Daddy." She squished his cheeks between her palms and kissed his nose. "Be good work."

Standing, he briefly rested his hand on Wyatt's head and then leaned over to kiss Bailey who grinned and gurgled at him. "And whatever you're up to" —he crossed the room to stand behind Veronica— "don't get caught."

"Wasn't planning on it."

Logan kissed her shoulder, reaching past her to put his mug in the sink. "That's what scares me."

From the corner of her eye, Veronica watched as he tossed the burp cloth on the counter and re-donned his suit jacket; not fully relaxing until she heard the beep of the alarm and the quiet thud of the front door shutting behind him.

The oven timer dinged, pulling her back to the tasks at hand. She turned off the burner beneath the now sterilized bottles. "Ready to get dressed sweet pea?"

"Wabbit too?"

"No, I thought we'd leave her in here to clean the kitchen." Confusion etched itself across her tiny features and Veronica smiled. "Yes, Bailey too." Wyatt nodded, climbing from her booster chair and starting for the hall. "Plate," Veronica reminded.

"Me 'get." She skipped back to the table and grabbed her plate one-handed, sending strawberry slices cascading to the floor. Crouching next to them, she dropped the plate, and ate the berries from the floor.

"You shouldn't eat—" Wyatt looked up, waiting for her to finish, and popped the final piece of strawberry in her mouth. Veronica shook her head. "Never mind." She scooped the plate off the floor and picked up Bailey.

It was easier to get Wyatt dressed when she limited her options. Distracting her with a request to get a diaper for Bailey, Veronica used the time to place two outfits on her bed. When Wyatt returned with the diaper, Veronica pointed to the clothes. "Which one do you want to wear?"

She picked the black leggings and the black shirt printed with pink bows and a pink ruffled hem. Veronica helped her get ready and then tied her pink sneakers. "Now let's get Rabbit dressed."

Wyatt frowned at her. "No done, Mama." She slid off the bed and went right to her dress up trunk. Her upper body disappeared into its depths and out flew tutus, tiaras, and boas. Each item tossed on the floor in search of the perfect accessories for the science center.

Acknowledging her defeat in the clothing battle, Veronica left her to it. She dressed Bailey in one of Wyatt's hand-me-downs —a pale yellow romper with tiny bumble bees and matching socks— and returned to the kitchen. She put the baby in the Pop N' Play for some tummy time.

Dottie would be here soon. There were questions Veronica wanted to ask her. Unfortunately, Dottie was wise to the ways of the Mars family and a regular fact-finding mission wouldn't work. This called for special tactics.

Using the tongs from the steam sterilizer, she lifted the glass bottles from the pot of cooling water and set them on the drying rack.

"Done, Mama," Wyatt announced on her return to the kitchen. She'd accessorized her outfit with a white lab coat, neon green safety goggles, a purple doctor's Gladstone bag, and a black sparkly boa.

Veronica grinned. "You are a very fancy scientist." She tapped the medical bag. "Do you have all your supplies?" Wyatt pulled open the bag. It was an eclectic assortment. Veronica spotted one glove, a plastic beaker, sunglasses, and a tiara. "Looks like you're prepared for everything- good job."

"Fank you." Wyatt snapped the bag closed in time with the doorbell.

Veronica started for the front hall. "Do you want to bring your camera with you?" Wyatt's head bobbed up and down. "It's in the top drawer of my desk." Aside from the kid-friendly yellow Nikon, there were also legal pads, pens, and markers in that drawer. It would be enough to entertain her while Veronica pumped Dottie for information.

"Good morning," Dottie was balancing four medium-sized pumpkins in her arms. They wobbled as she entered the house. To prevent a squashed squash, Veronica took the top two, lightening the load. "I thought the kids and I could make jack-o-lanterns after naptime."

Four pumpkins. Dottie, Wyatt, Bailey…  _Tyler_. Veronica frowned at the orange gourds in her hand. "We should put them away before Wyatt sees them or you'll never make it to the science center." Opening the bench of the hall tree with her foot, she tucked the pumpkins inside, and reached for the ones Dottie was still holding.

The inclusion of Tyler in her afternoon plans made this easier for Veronica. Staring at the closed lid of the hall tree, she sighed, schooling her features into a sorrowful mask. Dottie was immune to her prying, but she'd volunteer advice  _and_  information if she thought it would be comforting.

"Tyler isn't here yet." Without losing the pained expression, Veronica pushed back her shoulders and gave Dottie a half-hearted smile. "But I'm sure he'll love" —she waved at the bench— "making jack-o-lanterns."

Dottie focused on her face and slowly nodded. "But probably not as much as he loved swimming with Logan, yes?"

There was no need to fake the slight wince caused by her question. Dottie was good. She'd cut right to the heart of the problem with one sentence. Veronica shrugged. Holding out her open hands, she moved them up and down in a measuring gesture. "Cannonballs and pumpkin carving might rate the same for a five-year-old boy."

"In my experience, anything that's loud and messy with a high potential for injury and massive destruction is usually a good thing." It was said with a fond smile.

"I'm confused- are we talking about five-year-old boys or grown men?"

Dottie laughed. "Both." She followed Veronica into the kitchen. "Where's Wyatt?"

"Getting her camera." Taking two mugs from the overhead cabinet, she held one aloft —a silent offer of coffee— and Dottie nodded acceptance. Veronica fixed a regular cup and then a decaf for herself. "Was she okay yesterday after I left? With Tyler, I mean?"

"She was fine." Dottie took a sip of coffee and studied Veronica over the mug's rim. "Why wouldn't she be?"

"It wasn't a good morning." She joined Dottie at the table. "Pam's arrival has upset her routine; so while Logan's happy, Wyatt has been a little anxious."

"And you? How are you feeling about it?"

"Not as happy as Logan." Veronica put down her mug, glanced at Dottie, and then turned her head to check on Bailey. The baby's hands were tight balls, pushing against the floor of the playpen in an effort to lift herself. "He thinks I'm jealous."

"But you're not?"

_Not in the conventional sense_. Veronica shook her head. It was easy to talk to Dottie. Too easy. Part of her wanted to confide her fear about Tyler's parentage and her worries about Logan, the girls, their marriage, but she couldn't. Dottie, Jake —the entire Brennan family— belonged to Logan. They were his support system- not hers.

Cupping her hands around the coffee mug, she brought it to her lips. "Back when they were dating, did Logan bring Pam to your house a lot?" She took a sip, waiting for Dottie's answer.

Even with a reread of his journal, Veronica wouldn't be able to come up with an exact count. Logan didn't write every day and there were events he left out. To other people there would be no rhyme or reason to the entries in his journal, but Veronica understood their progress because she understood Logan. The only times Veronica knew for sure that Pam and Dottie would have interacted were OCS graduation and his winging ceremony.

Dottie sidestepped the question by saying, "Logan and Pam didn't date. Their relationship was…" Her brow furrowed; one finger tapping the side of her mug while she considered the rest of her answer. "They were two lost kids who found some stability in their relationship. Pam helped Logan through some difficult times and he helped her. They weren't… a couple."

The hesitation was slight, but it caught Veronica's attention. Was Dottie going to reiterate that they weren't dating or was she going to say they weren't in love and changed her mind, landing on the word couple instead? "Maybe not an official couple, but they were in love, right?"

Dottie started to shake her head and then stopped. "I really can't say, but whatever the relationship, I don't think Logan's feelings equaled Pam's."

That assessment lined up with what Veronica suspected, but she could be wrong. Believing what she wanted, rather than having to contend with the possibility that her husband still loved another woman. She'd asked him point blank this morning if they weren't married would he be sleeping with Pam and he hadn't answered. Maybe because the answer would be yes?

"When was the last time you saw Pam?"

Dottie's eyes clouded. "It was probably at Tommy's funeral."

Tommy Brennan, Dottie's husband, died almost six years ago. His funeral was only a couple of months before Pam would have gotten pregnant with Tyler. It added to the timeline Veronica was constructing, but it didn't eliminate Logan from being Tyler's father. "Were they together? Or was Logan dating someone else?"

The only time Pam and Logan didn't sleep together during their intermittent relationship was when one or both were dating someone else. Logan didn't start seeing Carrie until the following summer, which meant he was free to sleep with Pam from the time of Tommy's funeral in December until Tyler's conception.

"He may have been? I don't remember. Jake might know." She leveled Veronica with a steady gaze. "Or you could just ask Logan."

Her look more than her tone —and her tone was very firm— said she'd cottoned on to Veronica's interrogation technique and that the questioning was over. "I should go see what's taking Wyatt so long to find that camera."

Getting up from the table, she put her mug in the sink and retrieved a brown paper lunch bag from the pantry. She took one of the glass baby bottles from the drying rack along with its collar and sealing disc and went to check on Wyatt.

The entire drawer was pulled from the desk and lying on its side. All the legal pads were spread across the floor. Pens and markers everywhere. In the midst of the mess, Wyatt was on her tummy, coloring. "Whatcha doin' sweet pea?"

Without a pause in her scribbling, she said: "Work Daddy."

"You're working like Daddy?" Wyatt nodded. "Do you want to take a coffee break and go see Nana Dot?"

Instead of answering, she tossed down the marker, scrambled to her feet, and started skipping from the room. "Don't forget your camera," Veronica reminded and Wyatt rushed back to scoop up the CoolPix before disappearing from view.

Trusting that she was indeed going to have a coffee break with Nana Dot, Veronica surveyed the mess, and decided that it could wait. Carrying the baby bottle into her bedroom, she skirted the bed and went directly for the bathroom. More precisely, the bathroom garbage.

Locating a pair of rubber gloves from beneath the sink, Veronica put them on and lifted the condom from the trash. She slid the Durex extra large condom into the glass, keeping it upright, and then affixed it to the top of the bottle. After screwing on the collar, she placed the bottle in the paper bag.

Now all she needed was a sample from Tyler and maybe even from Pam. Including the biological mother in DNA paternity testing would almost guarantee a conclusive result and Veronica didn't want any room for doubt. Returning to the kitchen, she put the paper bag in the freezer.


	9. Hazy Shade of Winter

CHAPTER NINE

Pam didn't bring Tyler with her. When Veronica had asked where he was, Pam said she'd left him with Dick. " _As in Casablancas?_   _You are aware that Dick is just an overgrown child himself, right? And not actually capable of being the adult supervision_."

Laughing, Pam had waved off Veronica's incredulity, saying, " _It's only for a couple of hours_."

A couple of  _minutes_  sounded like too long to leave Dick in charge of a  _hamster_  never mind a child. Veronica had balked, suggesting that Dottie pick up Tyler on her way to the science center. Pam had reluctantly agreed with,  _"If it's not too much trouble._ "

That was an hour ago and Veronica still wasn't sure why she'd pushed so hard to include Tyler in today's activities. He wasn't her son and if Pam was comfortable with Dick as babysitter what did it matter? Wyatt had to share Logan yesterday for pool time and now, thanks to Veronica's meddling, she would have to share him with Tyler at lunch.

Her emotions were giving her whiplash.

"Ready to try your routine?" Pam's hand hovered over the boombox, waiting for her answer.

They'd stretched to work the kinks out of Veronica's sore muscles. Ran through all the strength-building exercises. Practiced the few pole tricks she'd learned yesterday. And now Veronica needed a break. She shook her head. "Let's talk about the party in the VIP room."

Pam's hand dropped to her hip. Arms akimbo and wariness in her eyes, she asked, "What do you want to know?"

Veronica didn't trust her and apparently the feeling was mutual. It shouldn't be surprising. There was no reason for them to trust each other. They were two strangers forced into this uneasy relationship through their connection to Logan. Getting Pam to release her secrets was going to take time. Time they didn't have. If Veronica was going to solve this case, she needed information.

She lobbed a softball. "Tell me about the layout of the room."

Nodding, Pam's shoulders relaxed and her eyes cleared. "I think it used to be the master suite, but they took out the walls for the walk-in-closet to make a stage." Her gaze flicked over the garage. "It might be easier if I drew a diagram?"

"I could use some water," Veronica said, walking toward the connecting door. Pam followed her from the garage through the mud room and across the living room to the kitchen. She waved toward the refrigerator. "There are two bottles on the top shelf, help yourself."

While pretending to rummage through the drawers for paper, Veronica watched her grab the intended bottles of water and carry them to the table. Pam left one untouched for Veronica and pressed the other to her forehead before opening it.

 _Epithelial cells and saliva_.

Veronica smiled and retrieved a yellow legal pad and pen from the drawer by the phone. She took the chair next to Pam and slid the pad across the table. "The club used to be a private residence?" Veronica prompted.

"It's a beachfront mansion." Pam shook her head. "I should've known something was wrong the minute I saw it. I mean how many strip clubs do you know operate out of a  _mansion_ with ocean views?" She gulped down more water and then picked up the pen. "What do they say? If it looks too good to be true, it probably is?"

Veronica remained silent, sipping her water and watching Pam draw. The mansion might have been enough to make Veronica suspicious, but maybe not. This was Neptune. It wasn't exactly shocking for the rich to want a better class of strip club. It was probably furnished by an interior designer and contained original art. Next month in  _Architectural Digest_  - Gentlemen's Clubs of the Rich and Famous.

"There are two curving staircases from the main floor." Pam indicated the two half circles in the center of her drawing. "When you get to the second floor, this area is a lounge with sofas. There's a railing here" —she pointed to a space across from the stairs at the back of the house— "where you can look down into the ballroom. That's where the main stage is on the first floor."

"So you can be in the upstairs lounge and still see the girls dancing downstairs?"

Pam nodded. "There are double doors here and here - his and hers master suites." She drew more boxes. "These are the two front rooms; they used to be four bedrooms, but they took down the walls to make them bigger."

Veronica studied the crude floor plan. "Which room were you in?"

She tapped the paper. "Joey named all the VIP rooms after expensive champagne; he thought it sounded classy." She rolled her eyes. "No one uses the names except the dancers and only when they're making fun of Joey behind his back." After numbering the rooms —1,2,3,4 in a clockwise circle— she wrote their "names" beneath the numbers. "We were in VIP one - Cliquot."

The other three rooms were Krug, Pierre-Jouet, and Cristal. Veronica shook her head. "What, no Dom?"

Pam laughed. "I don't think Joey can pronounce Perignon." Flipping to the next page on the pad, she drew a large square. "Here are the double doors from the lounge. The stage is along this wall and this is the door to the en suite bathroom. On this wall is a set of French doors, which leads to an outside balcony."

"The balcony overlooks the beach?" Pam answered with a nod. "Is there an outside staircase?"

Another nod. "That's how you enter the VIP rooms without going through the main club; the three guys selling the coke came in that way."

Two points of egress. The thief could have hidden the stolen money in any of the rooms upstairs, including the lounge. Or, he could have dropped the cash and drugs over the side of the balcony to a waiting accomplice. "I need to track everyone's movements- who got there first?"

"Me?" Bowing her head, she stared at the room drawing for a minute, and then nodded. "I was there first. I set up the stage and the bar."

"The bar? I thought there was no alcohol served upstairs?"

"There isn't -for regular customers, but the upstairs was closed to the public." She added a long rectangle to her floor plan. "The caterers were setting up the food on the credenza" —Pam tapped the shape she'd just drawn— "While I stocked the bar cart, changed the water in the cooler, and set out the props for the dancers."

It was clear the club was skirting the law and operating under its own rules. Maybe downstairs was a regular strip club, but upstairs was another story. "Props for the dancers?"

Pam pretended not to hear her. "Sam showed up as the caterers were leaving; he had Frick and Frack with him. He told me he wanted the girls to serve drinks and food —basically to stay out of the way until their business meeting was over— and then we could start… the entertainment." Her mouth twisted on the word.

At some point Pam's reluctance to share was going to be a problem. Initially Veronica had thought she didn't want to talk about what happened in the VIP room in front of Logan. But he wasn't here and she was still reticent. Maybe Logan would have better luck talking to her when Veronica wasn't around. "Who arrived next?"

"The girls. They got the same instructions from Sam —look pretty and don't talk— and then the guys arrived with the coke."

"How did that go down?"

A blank stare like she didn't understand the question and then she said, "They gave their sales pitch, bragging about the high-quality of their product, and then gave Sam the keys. He sampled it and turned over the money." She shrugged; her attitude the same as if she was describing a purchase of milk.

"Then what happened?"

"The dealers brought an extra ounce as a party favor and they did a few rails, offered it to the girls." There was a slight backward tilt to her head and she jutted out her chin, daring Veronica to judge the dancer's cocaine use.

Veronica ignored the challenge. For now. "Where was the cash and coke?"

Her lips pursed in thought. "The briefcases were on the floor next to the couch."

"Did anyone leave the room? Go outside for a smoke? Maybe go downstairs to the main floor?"

Pam was shaking her head through the entire line of questioning. "There were bouncers stationed outside the doors- no one in or out. There's also a bouncer at the bottom of both staircases."

That nixed the idea of hiding the money and drugs somewhere else in the club. Ditto the idea of the balcony drop. "What about the bathroom?"

"Sure, but I can't tell you who and when."

"Windows?" Veronica asked hopefully. Maybe the thief couldn't toss his ill-gotten gains off the balcony, but that didn't rule out an accomplice. She moved the imaginary partner from the beach to the parking lot beneath the bathroom. Wrap the cash and coke in a towel and chuck it from the window.

"I know what you're thinking, but no, there are no windows." She started to stand, reaching for the empty water bottle.

Veronica lifted the legal pad and held it out, distracting her. "Will you take this out to the garage for me? I want you to sketch out the first floor of the club and fill in as many details as possible." Veronica smiled. "And maybe take a few notes for me while I practice my pike spin?"

She still had questions about the "entertainment" for the party and if there was any point where someone would have enough time to steal the briefcases unobserved. Plus she wanted to know how the theft was discovered. But preventing Pam from throwing out her water bottle was the priority. Veronica had spent the time readying the bottles —washing away any stray prints and foreign DNA before strategically placing them in the fridge— and she didn't want the effort wasted.

"Okay." Pam took the pad and the pen. "Have you picked a song yet?"

With a nod, she said, "It's already in the CD player- track two." Pam took a few steps toward the doorway and then paused, turning back to wait for Veronica, who waved her on. "I'll be out in a minute; I want to get the costumes I bought so you can give me your opinion."

The excuse was enough to get Pam moving again. Veronica tracked her progress through the living room. When she was sure Pam wouldn't be coming back, she got another lunch bag from the pantry. With the bottle tongs she picked up Pam's empty water bottle and dropped it in the paper bag. She put it in the freezer next to Logan's sample.

Grabbing the BMW keys, she went to the car to collect the bags from Wicked Venus. Instead of walking through the house, Veronica used the opener to activate the roll-up garage door. Pam was sitting on Logan's workout bench —pad balanced on her knees— presumably drawing the layout of the club's first floor.

Veronica dumped the bags and hit the button to retract the garage door. The neighbors didn't need a free pole dance. "I stayed away from actual costume, costumes- so no naughty nurse or sexy sheriff."

"That's good because it's not that kind of club," she replied without looking up from her lap. "Did you buy shoes?"

As an answer, Veronica lined up the four pairs of shoes —strappy platforms with metal studs, black patent-leather with an ankle strap, clear acrylic with a stiletto heel, and a slide heel encrusted with rhinestones— then she pulled out the knee-high, lace up boots. They all had six inch heels and looked extremely painful. Veronica winced.  _What was I thinking?_

Pam barely glanced at them. "Do you want to try your routine with your shoes?"

"Uh, maybe I should learn it first before increasing the difficulty level to neck-breaking."

A smile crossed Pam's face as she raised her head; her grin widening when she actually looked at the shoes. "Good plan."

Veronica ran through the routine without music. The beginning was easy - sexy strut around the pole, body rolls, pike spin, slither down the pole, and slut drop. The tricks were harder. She climbed the pole, did an aerial invert, and undulated her body down the pole. Tucking her head, she slid the last few inches until her back was pressed to the floor. She curled a leg around the pole, lifting her body into a kneeling position.

Pam had stressed the importance of transitions.  _You need to dance, not move awkwardly from one trick to the next- be seductive_. None of this felt seductive or sexy. Veronica feared she was too stilted and self-conscious. Trying to dance for Pam was making her edgy. She needed to stop over-thinking the moves. To distract herself, she asked, "When did they discover the briefcases were missing?"

"The briefcases didn't go missing." Pam lowered the mini-dress she was holding. "You should wear this for your audition with Joey." Skin-tight and sheer, the halter-neck dress was shot through with silvery threads that made it shimmer. It was also completely see-through. Pam picked up a black G-string and the shoes with the metal studs. "Did you get any pasties?"

Veronica pointed toward the smaller bag and Pam selected a set of silver, glitter hearts. Outfit complete, she set it aside, and started sorting through the rest of the clothes. There was no way Veronica could leave the house wearing that ensemble - Logan would have a stroke. She'd have to cover it up with her black trench coat. "If the briefcases didn't go missing, how did they discover the theft?"

"The party coke was gone." Pam tossed a red, crochet-net skirt on the acrylic heels and added a matching red G-string. "Sam was going to refresh the supply from one of the kilos he'd just bought. When he opened the case and it was empty - all hell broke loose. He started accusing the dealers of stealing from him."

Veronica executed a perfect side climb, extended her leg, and turned her body into the pole before arching her back. Her legs started to wobble, body slipping on the slick metal. Clutching the pole with both hands, she dropped her feet to the floor to stop her inevitable fall. "I don't know if I'm going to be ready by Friday."

"You just need more practice." Pam brushed her fingers over the bruise forming on the inside of Veronica's knee. "Tattoo concealer will hide these."

She nodded. "Is that when they opened the case with the cash?"

"Yeah, the dealers said they didn't steal anything and opened the other briefcase. It was the only place they could have hidden the missing kilos and they were trying to prove their innocence, but that case was empty too. That's when they turned on us."

Six angry, ripped-off crime lords versus five scantily-clad strippers. Veronica was glad she wasn't present for that scene. "Did they search you and your stuff?"

"We were naked, Veronica —not a lot of places to hide five kilos of coke and a hundred grand— and we weren't allowed to bring bags into the room. That's why I needed to set up the stage before the meeting." She sat on the bench. "They tore the room apart, ripping open the cushions on the sofa, moving furniture, tearing pillows, cutting the seams on the mattress and box spring. It was like the stuff had just disappeared."

Even dejected and worn-out, with worry lines and dark circles under her eyes, Pam was still beautiful. It was more than the flawless skin and the fantastic body. She was alluring. Everything about her screamed sexy. If they weren't married, Logan would  _definitely_  be sleeping with her. Veronica shook her head.  _Enough of that_. "I'm ready to call it - no more rehearsing for me." Grabbing a towel from the floor, she wiped down the pole and her body.

Pam stood. "Guess I'll spring Dick from house arrest and return his car."

"Dick will have to suffer through his own company a little longer. We need to fix up your fake hideout and the kids will be back soon; Dottie's going to let them carve jack-o-lanterns. You don't want to miss that."

What was wrong with her? Why did she keep inviting Pam and Tyler to do things with her family? If Pam stayed through naptime and pumpkin carving, she would be here when Logan got home from work. That in turn would mean inviting them for dinner and who knew what else - an extended family sleepover?

"My fake hideout?" Pam asked.

"I parked your jeep in the driveway of a vacant house down the street and we need to make it look a little more lived in." Veronica patted the handle of the lawn mower. "Can you load this into Dick's Hummer?"

Without waiting for an answer, she headed for the mud room, and the set of spare curtains and rods on its shelves - leftovers from the conversion of the guest room to her office. She picked up one of the discarded lamps, a package of lightbulbs, the toolbox, and a light timer. Logan had taken one look at the cheap plastic timer and promptly installed an entire security lighting system in the house; making it obsolete for them, but perfect for today's plan.

Moving into the living room, she collected the surveillance items she'd taken from Mars Investigations and dumped everything on the dining room table next to her messenger bag.

Her bag.

Veronica touched the closed side pocket. She hadn't thought about it all morning. Too busy with her machinations, but now it was calling to her. Loud and insistent - her very own tell-tale heart.

Avoiding the pocket, she retrieved the key to the vacant house and pulled out the file Mac gave her last night. It contained the information on the estate of —Veronica flipped open the cover— the late, Anne Sharp.

A quick scan of the contents confirmed that the Public Administrator's office wasn't even close to locating an heir. She checked the death certificate for Anne's age, closed the file, and shoved it back in her bag. Later, when she was alone, she'd take the time to read through everything Mac had found.

Leaving the dining room, she got a clothes basket from the laundry room, and then collected a set of sheets and some towels from the linen closet. She loaded the basket with everything she needed and joined Pam in the driveway.

Pam was leaning against Dick's black Hummer smoking a cigarette. When she spotted Veronica, she flicked the Marlboro toward the street. Veronica watched its progress, making note of where it landed. "I quit when I was pregnant with Ty, but these past few days…" She shrugged. "I brought the weed whacker and hedge clippers, too; I didn't know how much yard work you wanted to do."

"Just enough to make it look occupied." Veronica loaded the laundry basket in the backseat and climbed into the passenger side. "When we're done, I want you to take your Jeep and go to the store. Get some food, toilet paper, toothbrushes for you and Tyler, and cleaning supplies. Don't go anywhere near Dick's house. Just to the store and back - there's a tracker on your car."

She paled. "They were following me?"

Veronica nodded. "They've probably been tailing you since the beginning."

"So they knew we were at the motel." She banged her head on the steering wheel. "I thought I was being so careful." Turning her head, she stared at Veronica, eyes wide and panicked. "They know where Tyler's school is and the playground I take him to in the afternoons."

"That's why you're keeping him home, changing routines." Veronica touched her shoulder. "We're going to keep him safe, Pam."

Nodding, she took a deep, shaky breath and started the car. "Where am I going?"

"Make a left and go to the end of the street; it's the gray house on the corner."

The house looked even worse than she remembered. Granted, she'd been too busy fighting with Logan yesterday to give it much attention, but this was bad. It needed more than a little sprucing.

"It's cute," Pam announced as she pulled into the driveway behind her jeep. "Needs a little work, but it has potential."

The roof of the Craftsman-style bungalow was littered with debris and sagging in the middle. Balusters were missing from its porch railing. Paint was peeling from the shingles in large strips, making the entire house look like it was molting.

Veronica hopped from the car and got the laundry basket. "You start on the lawn and I'll go hang the curtains." There was no need to explain the surveillance equipment to Pam. She was already freaked out by the idea of Sam, his goons, and the drug dealers tailing her; she didn't have to know that Veronica  _wanted_  them to be watching.

The condition of the interior was slightly better than outside. She went through the rooms —living, dining, kitchen, master, and bath on the first floor and two smaller bedrooms upstairs— opening the windows to air out the musty smell. Anything of value had already been removed, but it wasn't completely bare, which was good. There was a sofa and side table in the living room. A double bed in the master and a table, sans chairs, in the kitchen.

Veronica hung the curtains over the windows facing the street. Then she set up the lamp and timer on the side table, positioning it to illuminate the room from the road, but far enough from the windows to not give a peeper a good view inside. She adjusted the timer to turn on the lights at six-thirty and go off at eleven.

It could use more furniture. If anyone broke in for a search, they'd know it was a ruse. Veronica made a list. A bed for Tyler, chairs for the table, a dresser or two, and a television. She'd enlist Weevil and his truck for a trip to the thrift store. She put the set of sheets on the bed.

There was bleach under the bathroom sink. She swished it around the toilet and sink and did a quick clean of the tub. A stack of towels in the linen closet, one on the wall rack, and a folded hand towel on the sink counter was the best she could do right now.

Exiting the house, she locked the front door, and checked on Pam's progress. She was done mowing the small lawn and was working the weed whacker along the edge of the fence.

The porch light was low enough for Veronica to change out the bulb and she had no problem hanging the bird feeder on the crepe myrtle, but the light over the garage would require a ladder or a Logan.

"Do you want me to do that?" Pam asked, coming to stand next to her. Wordlessly, Veronica handed her the bulb. Pam frowned at the odd light, but didn't comment. Reaching over Veronica's head, she installed the camera bulb, and then angled the fixture toward the drive. "So whose house is this anyway?"

"It belonged to my great aunt, Anne; she just passed away in June. I didn't even know she'd died until the Public Administrator's office contacted me- apparently, I'm her only heir." Veronica sighed. "It's so sad that she died alone, you know? Oh, I'm Amber by the way" —she held out her arm to shake Pam's hand— "Amber Sharp."

Pam stared at her, slack-jawed, and slowly lowered her arms. "Wow, I don't know if I should be scared or impressed."

"Funny, that's the same thing Logan always says to me." Veronica started for the front of the house. With the mowed lawn and trimmed hedges, it was a definite improvement. "This is your fake hideout and my cover story so when you introduce me at the club, I'm Amber Sharp."

"Do I tell them I'm staying with you?"

"No, we'll let them figure that out on their own, but we'll need a story for how you and I know each other." Veronica sat on the front stoop. Pam joined her and lit a cigarette. "The club in Reno with the dancer who taught you- is it still open?"

"Doubtful, it was a long time ago."

Veronica nodded. "Then we'll use that story; only you get to be the experienced dancer who took me under her wing and taught me everything she knows."

"Okay." She took a long pull from her cigarette, exhaling fat, lazy smoke rings. "Have you thought of a stage name?"

"Pixie."


	10. Everybody Hurts

CHAPTER TEN

After giving Pam instructions —take the jeep only to the supermarket, put the food away, and then walk back— Veronica handed her the key to the little gray Craftsman and drove away in Dick's Hummer. She drove the neighborhood in slow circles, ensuring she wasn't being followed, and approached her house from the other end of the block. Leaving the driveway clear for Dottie, she parked the car on the street. On her way inside, she picked up Pam's discarded cigarette butt.

Earlier in the mud room, she'd noticed one of Wyatt's old diaper bags. The kind with the cooler compartment. She pulled it from the shelves, packed it with dry ice, and transferred the DNA samples from freezer to bag. It was too risky to leave them here. Not only was Logan a natural-born snoop, he'd also picked up a few things from her, and the frozen lunch bags would not go unnoticed by him.

She took a quick shower and changed into a pair of yoga pants, t-shirt, and hoodie - relaxing with the BFF attire.

Dottie and the kids beat Pam home. Wyatt's shouted, "Mama," was followed by the slam of the front door and the frenetic beep of the alarm, warning of an impending siren.

Veronica raced through the house, scooping up Wyatt, and jabbing in the code to silence the alarm before it started to wail. "In a hurry much, sweet pea?" One of Wyatt's ponytails had slipped low on her head and the other was completely gone. A swath of hair cut a path across her forehead and the rest stood from her scalp, pointing in different directions. "How's my mad scientist? Did you have fun today?"

Her head bobbed. "Ball wall!"

"You must have had a good time—" She combed her fingers through Wyatt's hair, brushing it back, and kissing her head. "—I can tell by all the shouting."

Veronica pulled open the front door and a four foot, jean-clad blur rushed across the porch, barrelling into her legs. She reached for his arm to keep him from falling backward. "Whoa, where's the fire?"

Confusion clouded his face and he looked around, shrugging, as if to say  _I don't know_. Veronica smiled. It was easy to forget how literal kids could be. "How was the science center?"

"Great! They had a tornado!" He grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "And people made of Legos and I got to drive the firetruck." Tyler peered around her into the house. "Where's my mom?"

"She went to the store; she'll be back soon." Wyatt started squirming in her arms and Veronica put her down. The second her feet touched the floor, she pushed Tyler's shoulder and took off at a run. He instantly gave chase, whipping past Veronica and disappearing inside. "Should I be worried about that?"

Dottie shook her head. "They've been doing the same thing all morning." She joined her on the porch and gave her the baby. "Tyler tried to teach her tag, but Wyatt just wants him to be 'it' and chase her."

Veronica laughed. Being chased was Wyatt's favorite game, especially when it ended in tickle-time. Logan liked to quip that she was a runner just like her mother. Veronica's smile withered. "Did Logan meet you for lunch?"

"We ate in the park."

"Really?" She arched a brow. "Logan agreed to the park?"

"He did. I was hoping the kids would tire themselves out, but" —she waved at the doorway— "You see how well that worked. I think the only one who might be ready for a nap is me."

"I can help with naptime for two of them at least." Veronica snuggled the baby closer, kissing the top of her head, and followed Dottie into the house. "Does Tyler still take naps?"

"No, but he was good at being quiet yesterday while the girls slept. We read books and he played in the yard." Dottie emptied the diaper bag, rinsing out a used bottle, and restocking the Goldfish container with more crackers.

"Pam will be back soon; she'll be able to take care of Tyler." Veronica started to leave the room and paused. "You know, if watching the three of them is too much for you, we can make other arrangements."

_Arrangements_. It sounded so permanent. The word was almost as disturbing as her use of the pronoun  _we_. She was already incorporating Tyler into their family life, making plans for child care and thinking long-term.

"I don't mind watching Tyler for a few days." She smiled. "Having three of them is just like old times and, believe me, my three were worse."

Veronica raised a skeptical brow. "If you say so." Leaving the kitchen, she headed down the hall to collect Wyatt for naptime.

"You hafta wait 'till I'm done setting it up," Tyler complained, frustration making his voice rise.

"No," Wyatt shouted in response.

Veronica peered into the bedroom. They were playing with Wyatt's monster bowling set. Tyler was trying to stand up the pins, but he only managed to right three of them before Wy threw the plush bowling ball. It hit a pin, ricocheted off Tyler, and smacked into the wall.

"That's not how you play" —Ty picked up the ball— "Let me show you."

Wyatt stuck out her chin, eyes narrowing, and she folded her arms across her chest. Veronica immediately recognized the posture and stepped into the room. "You can show her later; I need her to help me put Rabbit down for a nap."

Wyatt turned, eyeing her suspiciously. "Me no nap."

Neither confirming nor denying, Veronica said, "We're going to lie down in the big bed." She'd once made the mistake of agreeing with Wyatt's no-nap-declaration and paid the price with a cranky toddler who fought sleep for hours. "Do you want to feed Rabbit while I read a story?"

Unconvinced, Wyatt chewed the tip of her finger. She glanced at her books and then back to Veronica, gauging her truthfulness.  _Good luck with that, kid_. Finally, she gave a hesitant nod. "Okay, Mama."

Crossing her room, she picked up  _Moo Baa La La La_ , and Veronica inwardly groaned. "What about the new book Daddy bought you?" She slid  _Duck & Goose Find a Pumpkin_ from the nightstand, holding it out for Wyatt.

She took the new book without relinquishing her favorite and marched from the room, leaving Veronica with Tyler. "There are cookies in the kitchen," Veronica offered. He stared at the bowling ball in his hand. "Or you can play in here," she quickly added. "And there are movies in the living room."

"Is my mom back yet?"

"I don't think so." At her answer, Tyler turned his attention to the bowling pins. Veronica edged closer to the door. "But Dottie's still here if you need anything." When he didn't respond, she used the silence to make her getaway, slipping from the room.

Wyatt was jumping on the big bed, leaping into the air, and falling onto her bottom like the mattress was a trampoline. She was also rubbing her eyes and yawning. It didn't take long to get her settled on the bed, curled up next to Bailey for story time. But it did take two readings of  _Moo Baa La La La_  —with  _'do it like Daddy'_  critiques— and one reading of the new story before she fell asleep.

Veronica put Bailey in her bassinet and returned to the kitchen. Dottie and Pam were at the table drinking coffee. "—with a yard."

Dottie bent her head in the direction of the window. Tyler was on the cedar playset, diving head first into the tube slide. "He seems to really like it outside."

"How could you not love that thing?" Pam laughed. "I want to play on it myself."

"Me too," Veronica said, interrupting their conversation. "Did you get everything from the store?"

Pam nodded. "I picked up a set of dishes and a cheap set of pots and pans too. Oh, and some toys, which I left lying around, underfoot." All three of them shared knowing mom smiles. "Guess we should head home now." She stood, crossing to the sink to deposit her mug. "I'll bring some of our clothes over tomorrow to put in the house."

"I'll do it and I'll return Dick's car. You two should stay here; Logan can drive you home later." It would give him an opportunity to get Pam alone to ask some questions. Plus it would give her a chance to snoop through Pam's things. "You can give me a list."

"I have to work tonight."

"What time?" Veronica frowned. "And what are you going to do with Tyler?"

"My shift starts at eight. Normally, my neighbor watches Tyler; he sleeps at her house and I get him in the morning for breakfast and school." She stared out the window at her son. "I'm not sure going back to our apartment building is such a good idea."

It was a terrible idea. Tyler could be used as leverage against Pam. Following their usual schedule by bringing him to the neighbor's apartment was inviting trouble. "He can stay here tonight and Logan can take you to work."

"Are you sure?"

"There's a sofa bed in my office and there are clean sheets and blankets in the linen closet." She talked as she walked, leaving the room to clean up the mess Wyatt made with the markers and to make sure there was nothing on her desk about Pam's case. When she was satisfied that the contents of the space were benign, she collected both the messenger and diaper bag from the dining room table.

One quick goodbye later and she was in Dick's car without a destination. It was too soon to return the Hummer. She'd need Dick to drive her to Wallace's apartment and he wouldn't be home from school yet. Veronica drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. There were two pressing issues - finding Karen and identifying the three drug dealers. The former would be easier than the latter.

She pointed the car in the direction of Shenanigans. It was time for her to get a look at this club. The address from the website said it was north- before the Torrey Pines golf course and west of Hearst. Veronica navigated the back roads, keeping the ocean on her left.

If Karen was really staying with her mother in San Diego, a quick relative search on Accurint would turn up an address. Finding her wouldn't be the problem- it was  _questioning_  her. Veronica couldn't introduce herself as a detective. All Karen would have to do is mention an investigator to one of her fellow dancers and Veronica's cover would be blown before she even stepped inside Shenanigans. Plus there was always the chance that Karen was the thief.

Veronica almost missed the turn. A narrow, winding road cut into the bluff. She made the sharp left. As the street climbed, she counted houses. There were three on the ocean side. At least she assumed they were houses. Built low and nestled in the cliff only their rooflines were visible. Roofs, and the security gates across their driveways. On the opposite side, she counted two houses. Both perched high on the craggy rock face with a multitude of windows and, what she could only assume, were sweeping views of the Scripps coastal reserve.

The road dead-ended in a wide cul-de-sac. In the center of the semicircle's arc was a wrought-iron driveway gate; it was hung between two stacked stone pillars. The house numbers on the right matched the address from the website and a discreet, laser-cut metal sign on the left pillar read,  _Shenanigans_ , in script.

There was nothing else to see from the street. Sweetshade, cedar, and shoestring acacia trees lined the drive and blocked the house from view. But there were security cameras mounted at the gate, angled low enough to capture the driver's face when stopping at the intercom.

Veronica swung the Hummer in a tight circle, exiting the street the same way she came in.

She was wrong. Neptune or not, seeing that house would have made her Spidey-sense tingle. Pam  _definitely_  should have suspected something was amiss. A commercial business tucked in an entirely residential neighborhood, surrounded by homes worth upwards of ten million dollars, and completely hidden from view.

This was not your standard strip club. Maybe they were taking their clothes off and dancing, but Veronica doubted the entertainment stopped there.  _The rich and their playthings_. After seeing that house, the idea of Logan playing bouncer didn't seem so crazy. There was no way she wanted to be inside that mansion alone.

She tried seeing it from Pam's point of view. A single mother, working as a waitress to support her kid, gets offered a job stripping in a private, exclusive club. It was the plot of a bad Lifetime movie. The question really was,  _why?_

Base pay for a blackjack dealer wasn't a lot of money, but when you factored in tips —especially at the high-roller tables— Pam could have been making close to sixty grand a year. If she switched to dealing poker and moved to the VIP rooms, her salary bump would be substantial. With her looks and personality, it was conceivable for Pam to bring home a low, six-figure payday. Why quit that to take a job waiting tables? Hopefully, there was something in Mac's files that would answer that question.

Veronica pulled the Hummer into Dick's driveway.

Liberated from a day of babysitting and housebound translated to Dick getting high and going surfing, she only hoped he wasn't too far gone to drive. Veronica circled the house to the beach side. He was lying on his back, surfboard propped in the sand next to him.

Flat land, clear sight, and no wind. That was how Parker described the day of the shooting at her competency hearing. Veronica hesitated near the deck. The conditions were the same today. She studied the open expanse between where she stood and Dick's location. Her gaze landed on the spot and she squeezed her eyes closed.

Forcing a laugh, she shook out her hands, stomped her feet, and jogged across the sand to Dick's side. Her approach wasn't quiet. Turning his head, he waited for her to get close, before saying, "Hey, Ronnie."

"Hey." She sat. "Must be nice to be rich and not have to work."

"You would know- you're richer than I am."

" _Logan's_  richer than you," she corrected.

Dick waved away the distinction as meaningless. "To what do I owe the honor? Are more people moving into Chez Dick without an invite?" His eyes were red and glassy.

They all had their own ghosts to carry, but hers didn't involve a kid brother who was a mass murderer and rapist, so she withheld comment on the excessive pot use, and added  _call cab_  to her mental to-do list. "How's that going?"

"Kids cramp my style. Well, except for yours, little two perce— Wyatt, I mean Wyatt, is a great wingman, and the smaller one is like a chick magnet."

"The smaller one has a name and I find it hard to believe Logan lets you use our girls to lure in unsuspecting women."

"What use? We just go places and, bam, we're surrounded by ticking bio-clocks. It's low hanging fruit, Ronnie."

She shook her head. Less time spent with Uncle Richard might be beneficial for both the girls  _and_  Logan. "I'm just here to return your car and pick up some things for Pam."

A worried frown creased his brow. "Is she leaving?"

_Interesting_. "No, she's working tonight and we're going to watch Tyler." Relaxing, he resumed staring at the sky, arms folded beneath his head. Veronica waited until he was at ease before asking, "Did you and Pam spend much time together after Logan left Neptune?"

The question confused him. One eyebrow rising higher than the other, lips parting, and the corner of his mouth curling upward. It was an assumption on her part —that they wouldn't have been making pot brownies together while they were both actively trying to get Logan clean and sober— but maybe she was wrong. Veronica elaborated, "Logan said she taught you how to make cannabis oil?"

With a grin, he nodded. "She taught me how to make French toast and chicken soup, too. But we weren't best buds or anything. She wanted to make sure Logan was eating when she went back to Vegas." His smile disappeared. "You know, as part of his recovery."

More proof of Pam's feelings for Logan. Veronica averted her face and stared at the ocean. "So you haven't seen her in what… eleven years?"

"Nah, it hasn't been that long." Sitting, he bent his legs, and rested his forearms on his knees. "She visited me at culinary school and came to the opening of Breakers and whenever Logan was in town, we'd get together."

"Did that happen a lot?"

"Logan being in town or them getting together?"

She shrugged as if his answer didn't matter, but she wasn't sure it was convincing. Dick wasn't exactly brilliant, but he wasn't as dumb as he seemed either. He enjoyed playing the role of dim-witted loser and letting others dismiss him. Veronica changed the subject. "You ever hear of the club where she's working? Shenanigans?"

"Yeah, I've been there."

_Of course_. "Nice place?"

"Top shelf liquor, good music, and the dancers are  _hot._ " He shrugged. "But the private booths on the first floor are expensive and not worth it and you have to be a member to get upstairs."

"And you're not? A member, that is?"

"No need to sound so shocked, Ronnie." He shook his head. "I have better things to do with my free time." He gave her a lascivious wink. "You know, Uncle Dick likes to do more with women than just watch them dance, if you catch my drift."

"A sea otter could catch your drift and don't call yourself Uncle Dick - it's creepy." Veronica stood, wiping the sand from the back of her pants. "I'll leave your keys on the counter." Pulling out her phone, she scheduled an Uber, and started for the house.

Dick jumped up, following her inside. "You doin' okay?"

"Peachy." She scrolled through to the text message from Pam. The list was short. Pajamas and a change of clothes for Tyler, Pam's duffel bag for work, her toiletry case, and toothbrushes.

Veronica found Pam's work bag, putting it to the side, and hoisted their suitcases onto Tyler's bed. They'd packed a lot of stuff for their motel hideout. She sorted through the clothes, making a small pile to bring home, and a larger pile to leave at the decoy house. Toys and puzzles would stay here, but she took a few of Tyler's books, adding them to the pile with his pajamas.

She glanced at Dick who was hovering like a mother hen. "You don't need to keep me company; I know my way around." To demonstrate, she walked into the kitchen and found a few empty shopping bags in the pantry.

Dick hadn't taken the hint; he was still lounging in the doorway between the living room and sunporch. A look of concern on his face. "Pam and Logan, they—" Veronica waited, but Dick didn't seem inclined to finish his original sentence; instead he said, "You've got nothing to worry about Ronnie."

"I'm not worried, Dick; I'm in a hurry- my cab will be here soon." She thrust the shopping bags at him. "Make yourself useful and pack those two piles." Veronica picked up the diaper bag she'd brought with her. Tossing the words, "I need to pump," over her shoulder, she disappeared into the spare bathroom.

She turned on the breast pump so the noise would give credence to her lie. Slipping on one of the rubber gloves she'd packed, she lifted Tyler's toothbrush —a blue and green Oral B with Iron Man on the handle— and sealed it into one of the glass baby bottles. The bottle went in another paper bag and she placed it with the others in the cooler section of the diaper bag.

Veronica sat on the closed toilet seat lid and rested her head on the sink, biding her time until the cab arrived.

As soon as she questioned first Dottie and now Dick about Logan's relationship with Pam, they'd assumed she was worried,  _romantically_. Even Mac, after seeing the article, went right to the assertion that Logan wouldn't cheat. Did they see something there to be worried about and were offering hollow reassurances? Or were they just expecting Veronica to act like her old self- jumping to conclusions while being jealous and possessive?

None of them asked about Tyler. Maybe they didn't want to voice the question - are you afraid that Logan is Tyler's father? And maybe the reassurances and the ' _you have nothing to worry about, Ronnie'_  sentiments weren't hollow, but well-meaning? As in, even if Logan  _is_  Tyler's father, it won't change how he feels about you and the girls. Then again, exes didn't always show up with a secret love child —this wasn't  _Days of Our Lives_ — and none of them had access to Logan's journal. Without reading it, there was no reason to be curious about Tyler's paternity because they wouldn't know how long or how often Logan slept with Pam. Or they could all just be bad at math.

Her phone chimed, alerting her to the arrival of the cab. She turned off the breast pump and grabbed Pam's toiletry bag. Dick was nowhere in sight. Veronica grabbed the two bags he packed, dropped his car keys on the counter, and let herself out.

The ride to Wallace's apartment was blissfully silent. Only after she shut down the chatty driver by pretending to sleep. The car jerked to a halt and her eyes snapped open.  _Okay, maybe not pretending_. Veronica gathered her stuff.

Using her emergency key, she bypassed the security intercom and rode the elevator up to Wallace's apartment. It didn't take him long to respond to her knock. He was still dressed in his teacher's garb: wingtips, dress slacks, button-down shirt, and tie. "Hey buddy."

He eyed her bags. "Are you moving in?"

"You should be so lucky." Veronica brushed past him into the apartment. The door was centered between a kitchen on the left and a room on the right, optimistically labeled a 'study' on the building floor plans. Wallace had filled that space with his desk, computer, and coat rack. She dropped her bags at the foot of the rack. "I need a favor."

He leaned heavily on the now closed door. "Really? You hardly ever come to me out-of-the-blue and ask for weird favors without explanation."

"Who said it was weird?"

"You are Veronica, right? And not some other pushy, blonde detective?"

"Do you know more than one?" She poked around his desk drawer for a marker. "Hey, are you sidekick-cheating on me?"

"Who would have the time?" He waved at the open desk drawer. "Make yourself at home, by-the-way."

Ignoring him, she sat in his ergonomic, mesh-back chair, and started pulling out the lunch bags. She wrote NOT FOOD on each in large block letters. "I just need to store these bags in your freezer for a few days."

"Do I want to know what's in them?"

"Probably not." Crossing in front of him, she opened the freezer half of his side-by-side, and lined the bags in a row on a bottom shelf. "It's nothing illegal." At least not yet. Only eight states had laws against stealing someone's DNA and California wasn't one of them. "But just remember,  _always_  ask to see the warrant before you let them search."

The second part of her favor —a ride home— she wasn't ready to ask for yet. She paused with her hand on the fridge. An open pilsner was on the breakfast bar, a bottle opener next to it. Beyond the counter, in the living room, papers were spread across the coffee table. Veronica got her own pilsner. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Grading papers."

She popped open the beer. "Mind if I hang out for a little while?" Without waiting for an answer, she got her messenger bag, and moved into the living room. She curled into her favorite corner of his sectional sofa. "We haven't done homework together in a long time."

Wallace picked up his own beer. "So am I going to get an explanation? Weird or otherwise?"

Ducking her head, she said, "My house is filled with children and I need some quiet time."

Veronica pulled a manilla folder and her cell phone from her messenger bag. The phone was to conduct a search for Karen and the folder was from Mac. It was the start of the background checks on the dancers. When she'd gotten home from the strip club last night, Mac had given her the file. Albeit reluctantly. She'd still seemed unconvinced that Veronica wasn't investigating Logan. Her hesitancy had made it impossible to just ask for the tabloid article.

With an exaggerated sigh, Wallace dropped himself onto the sofa next to her. He put down his beer, but didn't immediately resume grading papers. Instead he watched her. "New case?"

"Mm-hmm," she murmured without looking up from the file.

The top sheet was a tax return transcript for Pam's friend, Reina. Under wages, salaries, and tips she'd reported an income of one hundred and eighty thousand dollars for last year. Veronica skimmed the list of numbers —interest, dividends, business income, capital gains— but her gaze kept wandering to the side pocket of her messenger bag.

Wallace had given up on her talking to him, his attention now focused on reading his student's paper. Shaking his head, he drew a red line through an entire paragraph, made a note in the margin, and topped the page with a big, fat C. "This kid thinks the main effect of tobacco use is that it makes you look cool."

"I blame Hollywood," she deadpanned and Wallace grinned.

"I should let him spend a day with my mom; she'd change his views right quick." He took another long pull from his beer and then picked up the next report.

Veronica waited until he was fully absorbed in his task and slipped the pilfered article from her bag, smoothing out its wrinkles. It hadn't required much thought. Mac had used the bathroom before heading home, leaving her laptop case alone and unprotected on the coffee table. An open invitation. It had taken Veronica less than a minute to filch the article and hide it in her messenger bag.

She stared at the old picture of Logan and Pam. It was taken almost a year after Veronica had left Neptune. In the photo, he was thinner than during their freshman year at Hearst, hollow-cheeked, almost gaunt, but still the Logan from her memory. Pam looked unchanged - ageless and beautiful.

The article was short:

_Logan Echolls -son of actors Lynn Lester and, Academy Award winning, Aaron Echolls- was seen leaving a Los Angeles meeting of Narcotics Anonymous. A source close to Echolls confirmed that this meeting was mandatory following his near-fatal overdose of heroin and cocaine. This lethal combination of drugs, known as speedballing, is the same cocktail that killed legendary comedian, John Belushi._

_Rumors of sketchy sexual behavior and rampant drug use have dogged Echolls for several months. He attended the NA meeting in the company of his current girlfriend, an exotic dancer from Las Vegas, Pam Mitchell. Friends say Mitchell is responsible for this current downward spiral; they are urging Echolls to end things with her and enter rehab._

Veronica read it twice.

_A source close to Echolls_. She frowned. It wasn't the most accurate piece of reporting —Pam wasn't a stripper at this point in her life and she certainly wasn't responsible for Logan's drug use— but they'd gotten enough facts right to make Veronica wonder.

Logan despised the media. When one of the tabloids had recently published a picture of Wyatt and Bailey with the caption,  _Aaron Echolls' Granddaughters_ , he'd gone apoplectic. He'd hunted down the photographer, made some serious threats to the man's health, and then told him to spread the word to his lowlife cronies - don't  _ever_  take pictures of my kids or else.

If someone had betrayed his privacy by sharing the details of his drug use and overdose with the press, that someone would be gone from his life forever. Who knew the details? Pam and Dick, obviously. Veronica immediately dismissed Dick from contention- too loyal to his best friend. Pam? But why would she make herself out to be the bad guy of the story?

Of course it could have been someone at Narcotics Anonymous, but the likelihood that Logan had  _shared_  during the meeting was about as realistic as the Easter Bunny having lunch with Santa Claus.

_Sean Friedrich._

"Whoa, what or who has you so angry?" At Wallace's question, her head jerked up in surprise, and he explained, "You're practically snarling." He reached for the sheet she was clutching and Veronica moved it out of his reach.

Wallace frowned.

Logan had accused her of acting like  _Hearst-Veronica_ and maybe he was right. Here she was avoiding her dad, stealing from Mac, and keeping secrets from her best friend. Relenting, she handed him the article and watched as he read.

When he was done, his gaze moved from the paper to the freezer and then to Veronica. "Are you afraid he's using again?"

"No," her response was swift and strong. "Logan wouldn't—" She shook her head. "It's Pam… she's… she's my new client."

One more glance at the article and then he handed it back to her. There was no automatic presumption of jealousy. No 'you-don't-need-to-worry' platitudes. Wallace just jumped right to the case by asking, "How did that happen?"

Veronica smiled.  _And that's why he's my best friend_. "She's in trouble and wanted to borrow money from Logan." Leaving out any mention of Tyler or her plans to go undercover as a stripper, Veronica gave him the bare bones story of the drug and cash theft.

"Wow, you've actually stumbled on a problem that can't be solved with money- in Neptune no less." He placed his hand over his heart. "I'm shocked."

"Don't be. The rich of Neptune are still behaving badly. I drove past the strip club earlier and it's definitely seamy." She described the upscale neighborhood and hidden mansion and then told him about the 'members-only' upstairs.

"So what do you think goes on up there?"

Veronica shrugged. "It could be an elite sex club like the Killing Kittens parties that happen in New York and Chicago."

"Killing Kittens?" Wallace shook his head. "Rich people are weird." He drained his bottle of beer. Standing, he carried the empty into the kitchen and tossed it in the trash. "Do you need a refill," he asked with his hand on the fridge.

"No, and none for you either- I need you to drive me home." She folded the tabloid article, added it to the file of background checks, and shoved the folder back in her messenger bag. "And we need to stop at the drugstore on our way." She slung her bag over her shoulder. "I have to buy an Iron Man toothbrush."


	11. Looks Like Rain

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Wallace didn't want to come inside. He offered his assistance with the case, told her to call him, and waved goodbye from the safe confines of his car.

"Chicken," Veronica muttered as she let herself into the house. There were no warning beeps from the alarm system and she frowned at the silent keypad. Dropping the bags on the hall tree, she re-locked the front door. Logan's deep chuckle, mingling with Pam's tinkling laughter, drew Veronica into the living room.

The four of them were seated around Wyatt's play table, eating hot dogs and drinking fake tea. They'd gotten "dressed" for dinner with boas and tiaras. Even Tyler was willing to play along with Wyatt's demands for fancy tea.

Veronica stopped short.

It was like a glimpse of Logan's life if she'd never come back to Neptune. Married to another woman with a house and kids. And a dog. He'd probably have a dog, if she didn't keep saying no.

Her chest constricted. No not Logan's life,  _her_  life with someone else playing the role of wife and mother. She'd thought about all the ways Tyler might be included in their family, but she'd never considered the reverse. Logan taking Wyatt and Bailey to do things with  _Pam_. The random trips to the museum or the beach while Veronica was working could now include Pam and Tyler. Happy family outings without Veronica.

"Please tell me you wear an apron." Pam's breathy delivery of the line and her hand on Logan's arm called to mind the silver screen. A classic black-and-white film with the voluptuous heroine seducing her leading man into doing a very bad thing.

"You didn't turn on the alarm," Veronica ground through clenched teeth.

Logan shifted in the tiny green chair, craning his neck to see her. "We were—"

"Mama!" Wyatt smacked her cup down on the table and grinned, interrupting whatever Logan was about to say. Her daughter's happiness at her arrival was infectious and an answering smile spread across Veronica's face.

"Hey, sweet pea." Circling the table, she kissed the top of Wyatt's head. "What's for dinner?" Hot dogs with a side of macaroni and cheese were on paper plates. Tiny pieces of cauliflower were mixed in the macaroni, hiding beneath the cheese, and there were bacon crumbles scattered throughout.

"Tyler picked tonight's menu; it's his favorite." With a smile, Pam lightly touched her son's head. "There's more in the kitchen for you."

_Thanks for inviting me to eat in my own house, Pam_.

Wyatt picked up her hot dog, squeezing it in her fist, and wiggled it in the air. "Me cook!" She bit the end of the frankfurter and then held it out for Veronica to have some.

"Oh you did, huh?" Instead of taking a bite, she kissed Wyatt's fingers. "Well, I guess I'd better go eat then." Wyatt nodded in agreement and Veronica beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

There were pots on the stove and dishes in the sink. The cheese grater was on the counter next to blocks of cheddar and fontina. Veronica peeked in the oven. A baking dish with the remains of the mac and cheese sat on the middle rack, strips of bacon across the top. She stole a piece and leaned against the warm stove, chewing the bacon and surveying the mess.

Logan and Pam had cooked dinner with the kids. Imagining the domestic scene turned the bacon to ash on her tongue. She tossed the uneaten half in the trash.

"Veronica Mars throwing away bacon?" Logan crossed the room and put a hand on her forehead. "Are you sick?"

She didn't want to tease and flirt with him. She didn't even want to engage in the snarky sarcasm they called foreplay. Edging out of his reach, she asked, "Where's Bailey?"

"Asleep in the laundry room."

Already in motion as she asked the question, she was gone by the time he finished answering, moving down the hall to check on the baby.

It was a trick Logan learned with Wyatt, putting her to sleep with the soothing white noise of the dryer. He would push the pack n' play tight against the front of the machines and the wash cycle would make the crib shake. But unlike her sister, Bailey needed more sound and motion. To compensate, Logan had the exhaust fan running, and he'd turned on the vibration unit attached to the crib. An entire parade could pass by the door and Bailey wouldn't hear it above the din in the laundry room.

Veronica leaned on the doorjamb to watch her sleep. Noise and motion were comforting for Bay, just like watching her babies sleep was calming for Veronica.

Logan walked up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist, and kissing her shoulder. The urge to relax against him was strong, but Veronica resisted, remaining stiff in his embrace. "You're driving Pam to work."

"That was your plan" —his arm fell to his side— "Not mine."

Jackass thought she was angry because of the  _ride_? Her hands clenched. Angling her body away from him, she slipped from the room, and marched down the hall. There was no need to check over her shoulder, she knew he would follow. Run and chase. She pushed open their bedroom door, stalked to the center of the room, and spun around to wait for him.

He didn't disappoint, striding through the door right behind her. "So what is it this time? Not in the mood for hot dogs? The kitchen's messy? Or was I sitting too close to Pam?" He tapped his chin as if he was considering the problem. "Wait, should I have made her eat in the kitchen like the help?"

Veronica screwed her eyes closed and counted to ten - slowly. Anger hummed through her body making her vibrate like a string tuned too tight. "When you take Pam to work, you need to ask her about the VIP room; she's holding something back."

Nonplussed by the change in subject, he blinked. "That's it? We're just going to talk about the case?"

"It's the only thing we seem to agree on."

As usual, Logan had no trouble keeping up with her change of moods.  _Curse him_. "Why do you think she's hiding something?"

_Right, Perfect Pam would never keep secrets._  "She gets cagey every time I ask about the party." He looked unconvinced and Veronica huffed. "There were eleven people in that room, Logan, and not one of them saw the money and drugs get stolen? That's an amazing  _trick_."

The insinuation earned her a hard stare. "You could try being a little less judg—" He snapped his mouth closed, shook his head, and withdrew into himself; an unreadable mask slipping over his face and a cool, blank look in his eyes. The distance yawned between them.

Veronica took a step forward. "Logan, I didn't mean—"

The  _slap, slap, slap_  of tiny bare feet running down the hall signaled the imminent arrival of Wyatt. "Mewwos, Daddy!"

His features relaxed and a soft smile curved his lips. "I'm coming, Bean." He opened the door and Wyatt rushed his legs. Logan scooped her up and glanced at Veronica. "She wants marshmallows—"

" _Toes-ed_  mewwos," Wyatt corrected.

"Toasted," he agreed, ducking his head and touching his nose to hers. "Apparently" —Logan kissed her and looked at Veronica— "you can't have hot dogs without them."

They grinned at each other over the top of Wyatt's head; their earlier acrimony fading beneath the cuteness that was their daughter, and Veronica nodded. "They go together."

"Like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong?" Logan didn't sing the words, asking with a mock-serious tone, as if it was a real question. Wyatt tossed her head back to stare at him, screwing up her face in confusion.

Veronica's smile widened. "Remembered forever as shoobop sha wadda wadda yippity boom de boom."

Wyatt's head whipped back and forth between the two of them, her frown deepening. Finally she declared them both, "Silly," and started wiggling herself free from Logan's arms. He set her on the floor and she scampered down the hall.

"Where are you planning on _'toes-ing'_ these marshmallows?"

"The firepit. They've already scouted the backyard for sticks." Logan started from the room and Veronica followed. "Tyler taught her how to pick the ideal stick, demonstrating how it needed to be long enough to reach the fire from their chairs."

The mention of Tyler was a splash of cold water. Veronica stopped walking. "I'm going to get her a sweater."

Turning on her heel, she slipped into Wyatt's room, and shut the door behind her. She wasn't going to miss any more family time, but she needed a minute alone before seeing Logan with Pam and Tyler. Their presence was part of her new reality and, no matter how much it sucked, she needed to find a way to deal, if for no other reason than Wyatt and Bailey.

_Good to know that change still has the ability to walk up and punch me in the face._

She grabbed a pink, ribbed cardigan from Wyatt's closet and then took her time returning to the kitchen. Pam was at the sink, loading the dishwasher. The cheese was gone, the leftovers packed in tupperware containers, and the counters were wiped down. She looked completely at ease, making herself at home in Veronica's kitchen.

Veronica walked past her to the pantry. Using the step-stool, she took down the graham crackers and chocolate bars hidden on the top shelf. She stepped out of the pantry to find Pam leaning against the counter, drying her hands. "When you go into work, I need you to get the footage from the security cameras at the front gate, specifically from the night of the party."

Pam's eyes widened with surprise. "How did you know there were cameras?"

"I drove past there today. Are there cameras inside?"

She nodded. "On the first floor only, in the main part of the club- not upstairs where we were."

"See if you can get me copies of that footage too; we can watch it together and maybe find the happy henchmen from a different visit."

Pam folded the kitchen towel and hung it on the handle to the dishwasher. Another one of those pesky social conventions would dictate that she thank Pam for cleaning the kitchen, but Veronica wasn't in the mood to do grateful. Instead she said, "Tomorrow afternoon you and I are going to pay Karen a visit."

"You found her?"

"Not yet, but I will." Taking Pam with her wasn't ideal —her questions would be limited by Pam's presence and their ruse— but it was her only alternative. A civilian version of a police welfare check. She would get her first look at Karen, hear what happened when Sam's goons came for a visit, and get a chance to snoop around the apartment. Not that she expected to find the coke and cash sitting on the coffee table, but maybe a lead on their whereabouts.

Veronica held up the s'mores fixings and Wyatt's sweater. "I should get these outside before they eat all the marshmallows."

A crooked smile from Pam. "Good call."

The only illumination in the yard was the fire itself and the clear string lights in the trees. Logan had turned off the pool and deck lamps along with the security floods, creating a warm and inviting space in the center of the lawn.

He was in one of the loveseats with Wyatt on his lap. Tyler was standing near the firepit, whirling his stick in the air, and telling Logan about the tornado chamber at the science center. " —kept putting her hands in it."

"Easy with that stick, Ty, before you hit someone or something," Pam admonished from behind Veronica.

"But Mom" —there was a slight whine to Tyler's protest— "I'm showing Logan how the tornado moved." A complaint, but he still did exactly as she asked, lowering the stick to the ground.

Wyatt looked up at Logan, grabbed fistfuls of air, and squeezed her hands tight. "Bye bye 'nado."

Veronica smiled. Tyler's  _'kept putting her hands in it'_  now made sense. Wyatt wanted to touch everything. Their daughter was her own force of nature. There was no way she would be able to resist grabbing the wind funnel. Veronica was actually a little surprised Wyatt didn't try climbing inside the glass chamber.

The empty seat next to Logan was her usual spot. Briefly she considered sitting somewhere else. It would drill home the point that she was still angry, but it would also leave the space empty for Pam, and that would drive her crazy. Veronica held out the graham crackers and chocolate for him, and then glanced back at the house.

Without her having to ask, Logan reached next to his thigh, and picked up the baby monitor. "And I turned off the washing machine before I came outside."

Of course he remembered to check on Bailey and bring the baby monitor with him. When he said nothing was more important to him than his family, it wasn't smoke and mirrors. Being a dad —a  _great_  dad— was Logan's priority.

Veronica took her seat and watched him feed marshmallows onto the end of Tyler and Wyatt's sticks —two each— and then help them adjust to the right height for toasting, not burning. It didn't take long for Wyatt to lose interest in the cooking part, she was more about  _eating_  the s'mores than making them.

"Daddy do." She shoved the stick at Logan and stole one of the uncooked marshmallows from the bag, popping it in her mouth. Then proceeded to talk around the wad of sugar in her mouth, telling Logan about the floating beach ball. "No climb." Wyatt wagged her finger.

"She couldn't reach the ball and tried climbing on the table." Tyler grinned. "But it was cool; it moved up and down on its own."

Logan nodded. "That's Bernoulli's principle - a lot of people think that's how the wing of an airplane gets lift." He started explaining Newton's laws of motion and Veronica ducked her head, smiling. Advanced physics from the man who had to take the class  _twice_  in high school.  _Very intelligent, but needs to apply himself_  was certainly an accurate report card assessment.

Tyler was a rapt audience, but Wyatt was losing interest fast. She tugged on Logan's shirt. "Done?"

"Sorry, jellybean." He made her a s'more and Wyatt snuggled next to Veronica's side to eat the gooey sandwich. "Do you want one?"

Veronica shook her head. Now that the kids were busy eating, awkward silence settled around them. What do you talk about with your husband's ex? An ex who was in love with him and might possibly be the mother of his child?

She knew if she let herself she would probably like Pam. Just like once upon a time she'd liked Parker, respected Carrie, and, of course, loved Lilly. Logan didn't care about vapid and vacuous women. Maybe he dated them and slept with them — _hello, Caitlin Ford_ — but his real feelings were saved for women of substance. And there was no doubt he had feelings for Pam, both back then and now. The only question was the depth of those feelings.

"What time do you have to leave for work?" Veronica asked.

Pam sucked chocolate off her finger before answering. "Soon. When we're done with these" —she held up the half-eaten s'more— "I'll get Ty ready for bed and he'll go to sleep at eight… without giving Veronica any problems, right?" She addressed the end of her sentence directly to her son who gave her a blank stare in return. "Right?"

Tyler's unconvincing nod caused a flutter of panic in Veronica's chest. Why had she suggested Logan drive Pam to work? Now she would have to do bedtime with Tyler. She had enough doubt in her skills as a mom, never mind as a stepmother.  _Just don't make him clean the cinders from the firepit, Veronica_.

As if sensing her thoughts, Pam offered a reassuring smile. "A glass of water, a story, and one final trip to the bathroom, and he'll go to sleep without a problem."

That sounded way too easy to be believed. Veronica envisioned water in a cup the size of a Big Gulp, a book as long as War and Peace, and numerous trips to the bathroom in her very near future. "Hmm, maybe we should skip bath—" One look at Wyatt's chocolate covered face and hands put an end to that idea.

Logan followed her gaze to their daughter and grinned. "I'll take care of the little sticky one." He leaned in close to Wyatt. "Did you actually get any of that in your mouth or did you just rub it all over your face?"

Wyatt reached for him. Instead of blocking her arms, he let her squeeze his cheeks, and give him chocolate kisses. She giggled when she saw the handprints she'd left on his skin.

"Think that's funny, huh?" A big nod from Wyatt and he scooped her up, tucking her under his arm, and tickling her on their way inside. "Come on, Ty, you two can brush your teeth together."

Tyler popped out of his chair and scrambled after Logan. Pam watched them go and Veronica watched Pam. Her face was turned away and the light was too dim to read her expression, but Veronica had a feeling she wouldn't like what she saw. "Does Tyler get to spend a lot of time with his father?"

Pam's body jerked back as if she'd been slapped. "No, he doesn't," she snapped the words and immediately stood. "I should go take care of Ty."

"Okay." Veronica got up, gathered the leftover foodstuffs, and grabbed the baby monitor. "When you leave work tonight, take a cab to the decoy house. Walk through, turning lights on and off like you're getting ready for bed, and then slip out the back door and come here." She caught up to Pam at the stairs to the deck. "Have Logan give you the spare key and the code to the alarm."

"I won't get home until close to four-thirty; I don't want to wake everyone."

"It's fine." Veronica paused at the door. "Seriously, don't stay in that house alone. Walk through, front to back and leave immediately."

Pam blinked at the harsh tone and nodded. "I will."

Veronica left her standing at the foot of the stairs. After putting the food away and grabbing her messenger bag, she went in search of Logan and the kids. They were in the hall bathroom. Teeth were already brushed —evidenced by the glob of fresh n' fruity toothpaste in the sink— and Wyatt was in the tub. "Where's Tyler?"

On his knees washing Wyatt's hair, Logan didn't turn around. "Pam's getting him in his pajamas." He turned on the hand-held shower attachment and checked the water temp. "Head back."

Wyatt scrunched her eyes closed, tilting her face up. "No eyes, Daddy."

"No eyes," he agreed, kissing her nose before rinsing the shampoo from her hair.

"I can take over here if you want to go change." Her offer was rejected with silence. Veronica shut the toilet lid with a  _thump_  and sat down, kicking the bathroom door closed with her toes. "Pam said the dealers showed up and Sam bought the coke, exchanging a briefcase of cash for the five kilos. There was extra coke —Pam called it a party favor— which they shared with the dancers before the 'entertainment' started. I need to know—"

"I get it, Veronica; you want all the salacious details." He sounded resigned. Or maybe it was annoyed. She didn't know if his attitude was caused by the unnecessary reminder, or if it was prompted by his belief that she was looking for a reason to judge Pam.

Veronica stared at the back of his head. "Were you in love with her?"

His shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh. Instead of answering, he picked up the towel lying next to him and held it open for Wyatt. "Okay, Bean, pajamas and stories."

Without budging, she shook her head, and dumped her bucket of foam letters into the water. "This one?" She held up a bright orange letter.

Logan checked his watch, lowered the towel, and answered, "M for mommy and milk and money." It was their alphabet soup game. Wyatt dropped the letter and then stirred the water with both hands. She grabbed the next one and held it up for him. "S for slurp" —he made slurping noises— "and silly."

With the next letter Wyatt declared it was, "Mama turn," and Veronica came up with a list of things that started with an O. They did a few more letters and then Logan told her if she didn't get out of the tub he wouldn't be able to read any stories.

Wyatt immediately dropped the Z she was holding and stood, arms stretched out for Logan to carry her. He wrapped her in the fluffy towel and Veronica followed them to Wyatt's room. Pajamas weren't a struggle because they just let her wear what she wanted —a bathing suit, t-shirt, tutu, and fuzzy socks— and then they each read her a story.

Logan switched the lamp to its nightlight setting and they eased out of her room, leaving the door ajar. He turned on her. "Babysitting bedtime? Were you afraid I'd crawl through the window and rappel down the side of the house to escape your interrogation?"

"Rappel? Would that one story jump be too much for you? Wait, I know." She unbuckled her belt and slipped it through the loops. "Use this, and don't forget to tie it to the window handle for safety."

"Gee Veronica, you're always looking out for me." He started for their room and then spun around to face her. "Are you going to help me cross the border in Lamb's trunk, too? Or should I just ask Duncan? I'm sure he'd be THRILLED if I were to disappear."

She staggered back a step. It was like they'd time traveled to senior year. Logan's sarcasm was set on stun and he was throwing Duncan in her face. She simultaneously wanted to flee and cry, but she did neither, remaining rooted to the spot and staring at him.

Logan rubbed a hand over his face. "Veronica, I'm—"

"No need to worry about Tyler's bedtime," Pam said, walking down the hall to join them. "He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow."

Veronica gave her a tight, thin-lipped smile. "It was a busy day."

Pam's steps slowed and she looked to Logan. "Uh, we need to leave or I'm going to be late."

"We don't want that," Veronica said, inching down the hall and slipping past Pam. "I'm going to put Bailey in her room." She ducked into the laundry room, shut the door behind her, and leaned against it, closing her eyes. There was no way she wanted to watch Logan and Pam leave together.

Aware that she was being ridiculous by hiding out in her own house, she still shut off the exhaust fan, and waited for the sound of the front door. When the muted conversation ceased and the alarm beeped, her eyes popped open.

She left Bailey in the porta-crib —at least she'd learned to let sleeping babies lie, now if she could just leave the dogs alone— and went to check on Tyler. He was sprawled across the pull-out on his stomach, arms raised overhead and hands tucked beneath the pillow.

Cognitive closure. Veronica understood the concept. The human mind was averse to ambiguity and unanswered questions so it created plausible explanations. The danger lay in seizing information and accepting it as fact, without taking the time to look for the truth.

It annoyed her that Logan was doing this with Tyler. Pam said he wasn't the father and that was enough for him. No questioning, no demands for a paternity test, no verification. Yet Veronica was doing the same thing. She'd latched on to the belief that Tyler was his son and her mind wouldn't let go of the idea. It was playing through the scenarios of visitation schedules and child support payments like it was a foregone conclusion.

She needed answers.

Shutting her office door, she crossed the house, and retrieved her abandoned messenger bag from the hallway floor. First, she would find Karen for tomorrow's excursion, and then she would find a discreet DNA lab.

She donned her favorite flannel boxers and t-shirt before crawling into bed with her laptop. Karen was easy. Using the information from Mac's preliminary background check and a relative search on Accurint, she found an address for Karen's mother in San Diego.

The search for a DNA lab wasn't as successful. Actually  _finding_  a lab wasn't the problem. There were tons of labs willing to do the tests even without the standard buccal swab. Granted, the other samples increased result turnaround time and none of the tests could be used to establish legal paternity because there was no chain of custody for the collection. But those things didn't matter to Veronica. This wasn't about asserting parental rights; it was about knowing the truth. The problem was that all of the labs wanted signed consent forms from all the participants.

Veronica downloaded the sample form. It didn't require a notary, only a witness. She could sign the form for each of them and then be the witness to her forgery. The idea made her uneasy.  _Really? That's where we're drawing the line these days, Veronica? You'll steal his DNA, but not forge his signature?_  She closed the PDF, deleted it, and then emptied her recycle bin. For good measure, she also deleted her browsing history.

Opening the file from Mac on the bed next to her, Veronica spread out the pages. Basic background checks on the dancers —criminal records, wants and warrants, credit reports, and a motor vehicle report— along with the not-so-basic tax return transcripts and list of social media accounts. With more time Mac would also get phone records, emails, and credit card transactions, but this was a start.

Veronica lined up the tax transcripts. Reina's one hundred and eighty grand income was at the high end of the scale, but all five were making a six-figure salary. The lowest earner was Karen and she still showed an annual income of a hundred and forty. The disparity could be a less-than-truthful reporting of their tips or Karen could just earn less because she was younger. Or maybe the other girls were getting paid for doing things that Karen didn't.

She picked up the list of social media sites and opened a new browser window. Pam said that one of Sam's men —either Frick or Frack— had a thing for Siobhan Byrne. Veronica signed into her "Amber" Facebook account and searched for Siobhan. If the interest was mutual, Goon #2 could be one of her friends.

The alarm pad chimed with the open and close of the front door.

Siobhan's profile picture was her doing the skater pose on a stripper pole, wearing nothing but black boyshorts, a lace bra, and platform heels. Veronica clicked on the photos tab. There were more poses in the same outfit, each trick more complicated than the last. The ubiquitous  _'to see what she shares with friends, send her a friend request'_  was at the top of the page. If this was Siobhan's idea of a privacy setting, Veronica wondered what she reserved for people who knew her.

She could feel Logan in the bedroom doorway, watching her.

Clicking over to Siobhan's friends, she absently scrolled through the alphabetical list and intentionally ignored Logan. Siobhan was a popular girl and this was a fruitless task, especially when Logan was here with — _hopefully_ — useful information. Veronica snapped the laptop closed. "What did Pam say?"

He pushed off the door frame. "Things that make me want to take a shower." Grabbing the collar of his shirt, he yanked it over his head and tossed it on the chair. He shucked his jeans next. They landed on top of the tee. Clad only in boxer briefs and socks, he sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her. "The dancers were performing a live sex show."

Sex shows weren't illegal in California per se. The O'Farrell Theater in San Francisco's Tenderloin district was famous for its shows and its former owners were responsible for the hardcore porn movie,  _Behind the Green Door_ , with Marilyn Chambers.

The need for 'props' and a bed in the room now made sense. "Were all of the dancers… performing?"

"Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. "And one of the dancers was having sex with the three drug dealers."

Veronica's gaze fell to the papers spread on the bed. "Let me guess, Pam's friend from Vegas, Reina?"

The bed shifted, Logan twisting his body to stare at her. "How did you know?"

"She makes the most money." Veronica gathered the papers, tapped them together, and returned them to the folder. "Did they take any breaks? What about the other three guys- Sam and his two associates? Were they just watching the show or…" She let her voice trail off, waiting for Logan to provide the answer.

He fell back on the mattress and stared at the ceiling. "Pam can't account for every minute. There were bathroom breaks and people eating; they stopped to do lines of coke, and get water. But there were definitely enough  _distractions_  to allow for the theft."

No alibis for any of them and they still needed to get the coke and cash out of the room. "I don't suppose anybody was drinking Big Mouth Joe's?"

"Not funny."

"Wasn't trying to be." She shoved the folder and laptop into her messenger bag and tucked it under the bed. "You know that money delivery I told you to stop? I've changed my mind."

He swung his legs onto the mattress, rolling on his side to face her. "Changed your mind about going undercover? You want Pam to give them the money?"

She shook her head. "That's still a bad idea." Tossing back the covers, she got out of bed. "Can you have Tomás bring over the cash? Not the full two hundred grand, but half?"

"Where are you going?"

"First class to Bora Bora? Know any good luxury resorts?" He frowned, forehead crinkling, and she stopped walking. "Oh, you mean now? To the kitchen- can't pack on an empty stomach."

And she was starving. That one bite of bacon was the first thing she'd eaten since last night's French dip and potato skins. She was existing on decaf and adrenaline.

The mac and cheese and hotdogs from dinner were a hard pass. There was Dottie's chicken parm, but she wasn't in the mood. Black bean soup from Sunday was also a no. She found the leftover bacon, pulled out a chunk of brie, and then went to the pantry for sourdough bread and apricot preserves.

"So you're still mad then." It wasn't a question.

She shrugged, assembling her grilled cheese sandwich and slathering the outside of the bread with butter. "What? You're the only one who gets to joke about leaving?"

Logan ducked his head as the words hit their mark. Their issues manifested themselves in different ways, but they both feared abandonment. Her leaving for nine years didn't help, but they'd finally gotten to the point where they understood this was it. They were committed to making it work and neither of them was going to run at the first —or fiftieth— sign of trouble. It gave them a sense of security in their relationship; an ability to openly communicate without fear. Threatening to leave undermined that.

"Okay, Veronica; you're right and I'm sorry." He fixed himself a cup of coffee and sat at the table. "What are you going to do with the money?"

"I need to  _see_  it —size and shape— so I can figure out how it was smuggled from the room." She joined him at the table with her sandwich. "And since I'm not actually going to buy five kilos of coke, got any suggestions?"

"Each one is about this big," he answered, framing it out with his hands. Leaving the table, he disappeared into the living room, and returned carrying five thick paperback books. "Maybe about a half inch longer, but these are close." He stacked them on the table.

No windows in the bathroom, the briefcases didn't disappear, the room was searched, and the dancers were naked- how did they steal it? There had to be a hiding place in the VIP room they missed. She got up and fixed some chocolate milk.

She finished her sandwich without tasting it and drained her glass. This was not a comfortable silence. Veronica didn't want to talk about the case and Logan didn't want to talk about Pam. It left them little to say. "I'm going to get some sleep before Bailey wakes up."

He held out an arm to stop her. "I wasn't in love with Pam." She didn't try to hide her skepticism, pursing her lips and arching an eyebrow. Logan smirked. "I was too fucked up to love anybody."

That might have been true at the very beginning of their relationship, but not for the entire time they were together. "You know she's in love with you, right?"

"God" —Logan shook his head— "now you sound like Carrie."

Her temper flared. "Do I? Well, I can see how it might be confusing, there's so many of us on your list."

"Right, my list." His lips flattened and he looked her over with a cool blank stare. "Remind me- who are you again?"

"Veronica," she enunciated each syllable. "I would have said 'mother of your children' but that's not exactly an exclusive club anymore, is it?" Pushing back her chair, she blindly grabbed her dishes, and dumped them in the sink. "You need to tell her—"

Concern darkened his eyes. "Tell her what, Veronica?" He moved in front of her, keeping her in the kitchen. "That I'm in love with my wife?" Logan stroked his thumb over her cheek. "Pam has known that since the day I met her."

_You need to tell her you want a paternity test_  is what she wanted to say. But he was here and he was trying so hard to fix things. To make everything okay. He was offering reassurances and apologizing, and she was giving him nothing in return.

His hand cradled her cheek. She turned her face, kissing the center of his palm. "I love you, too, Logan."


	12. Closer to Fine

CHAPTER TWELVE

Logan made breakfast —eggs fried inside yellow bell pepper rings— and then got the kids to play a game of Peek-a-Doodle Doo in the living room before feeding Bailey. When he woke Veronica there was nothing left for her to do, but eat breakfast and watch the kids try to remember which chickens had eggs under them.

"Manicotti from Luigi's for dinner tonight?" Logan kissed her nose. "I can pick it up on my way home?"

"Is that your way of saying you don't want to cook?"

"It's Wednesday, Veronica." When she failed to make the correlation, he sadly shook his head. "Everybody knows —except you, apparently— Wednesday is Prince spaghetti day."

She rolled her eyes for his benefit and hid her smile by taking a sip of coffee. He was different this morning. Last night, too. After their talk-fight in the kitchen, he'd sent her to get some sleep before Bailey woke up demanding food and then he'd taken care of both of her late night feedings, allowing Veronica to sleep.

No, not different, she silently corrected. This was the return of her husband. The Logan she hadn't seen since Sunday. She suspected his oversolicitous behavior was meant to be reassuring; his way of proving that things would not change with Pam and Tyler in their lives. It was a bit simplistic, but she was willing to play a little make-believe. "You know I can't say no to Italian food."

"True." He took away her mug, put it on the counter, and wrapped his arms around her waist, hands sliding over her ass as he pulled her closer. "It's like the hundred thousand dollar Pyramid. Things that Veronica Mars can't resist: Italian food, waffles and ice cream, mysteries, and" —he kissed the side of her neck— "Logan Echolls."

She gently pushed his shoulder. "Cocky bastard."

His smile was smug as he let her go and gave her back her coffee. "So it's a date? Our kitchen at six?" He leaned in for a lingering kiss goodbye. "Dress casually, or don't dress at all; I'm pretty flexible." His eyebrow bob earned him another eye roll. Still smiling, he strolled from the kitchen.

There were goodbye hugs and kisses for Wyatt and she told him to, "Habbagooday," which earned her another kiss. He ruffled Tyler's hair and then he was gone.

Veronica sipped her coffee and turned to Bailey. She was in her bouncer, trying to shove both hands into her mouth while blowing spit bubbles and gurgling. "No manicotti for you" —she blew a raspberry on the baby's tummy— "But I promise, no bottled dinner, okay?"

Bailey kicked her legs, dropping her hands from her mouth to smile. "I almost believe you know what I'm saying." Putting down her coffee, she placed her index fingers in the baby's palms, and Bay's hands closed around them. Veronica showered kisses on her little fists.

When the doorbell rang, it took some wiggling to free her fingers from Bailey's tight grip, and she quickly handed the baby her monkey rattle to avoid any tears. "I have to open the door for Nana Dot."

Bailey shook the rattle, screeching something that sounded like,  _bah_. Veronica shrugged. "We tried giving her a key, but she didn't want one."

She brought the bouncer with her to the front door.

Dottie was waiting with a bulging tote bag and a cupcake tin. "I come bearing arts and crafts projects and fresh, out-of-the-oven chocolate chip muffins." She held out the tin and Veronica exchanged the bouncer for the muffins. "I had to wrestle those away from your dad."

"Hope you got combat pay." Balancing the tray with one hand, Veronica helped herself to a muffin. She closed the door with her hip, licked one of the warm, gooey chocolate chips, and took a large bite of muffin. "The kids are playing a board game" —she nodded toward the pastel table— "Pam is sleeping, and I'm going to do some work in the garage until she wakes up."

"Nana, chicks!" Wyatt held up one of the plastic hens and then flapped her arms like a chicken, making  _cluck, cluck_  noises.

Dottie clucked back at her. "After your game, we're going to make table turkeys and leaf suncatchers, okay?"

Wyatt wasn't paying attention anymore; she'd returned to her game. She picked up a chicken, found an egg, and put it in the crate. Veronica leaned over and kissed the top of Wyatt's head, careful not to interrupt her search for eggs, and finished eating her muffin on the way to the garage.

Locking the connecting door behind her, she turned on the music, keeping it low so Wyatt wouldn't think she was dance-partying without her.

There were only two days until her audition with Joey and if she wanted to be ready, she needed to try this routine in her costume and heels. She peeled off her clothes and shimmied into the see-through halter dress and g-string. Foregoing the pasties, she sat on Logan's workout bench and jammed her feet into the strappy platforms. As Loretta had instructed, they were snug and in no danger of flying anywhere.

Veronica checked the mirror. With her bedhead and no makeup, she looked like a soccer mom posing as a stripper. Okay, so she wasn't actually a soccer mom —that was more Logan's thing— but she still felt ridiculous. "Cowboy up, Veronica Mars."

It was easier to dance without Pam around. But not so easy in the six-inch heels. She ran through her routine twice, adjusting for the weight of the shoes, and trying not to clank the metal studs against the pole. The third time was better, but still not perfect. She reset the song and did the entire routine a fourth and final time. It wouldn't help if she was too sore to actually dance on Friday.

Shedding her costume and her Amber persona, she redressed and left the garage.

The kids weren't in the living room and the house was too quiet for them to be inside. Veronica crossed to the French doors to check the yard. Wyatt and Tyler and Dottie were sitting on the grass painting paper cups brown, and Bailey was doing tummy time on a blanket.

Leaving the doors open, she headed for her bedroom. To give Pam more time to sleep, Veronica indulged in a long shower with all twelve body massage jets.

Stripper Amber was almost ready for her new job at Shenanigans, but  _paper_ Amber would need a little tweaking. Going undercover as an employee at an  _actual_  business meant paperwork. The federal government required employment eligibility verification and tax withholding information. Veronica, as Amber, was going to have to show Joey a birth certificate and driver's license and provide him with a social security number.

The first two weren't a problem. She'd already created realistic-looking fakes of both documents and Veronica had no doubt they would pass inspection by Joey. The social security number was an issue. Not creating one —she could use the first five numbers of her own and make up the last four digits— but what happened when the employment forms were sent to the government. Mac was good, but even she couldn't create a backstop for Amber that would fool Homeland Security.

As manager of Shenanigans, Pam was just going to have to lose Amber's documents.

Veronica turned off the shower. She wrapped herself in a towel, braided her wet hair, and put on makeup. Jeans and a black turtleneck and then a pair of black heeled boots to complete the outfit and she was ready to leave. She went back to the closet for her green leather Coach bag. It was already set up as Amber's purse with her ID, library card, and cash. Now it just needed one more thing.

She headed for her office and was stopped by the sight of Pam in the kitchen. She was already dressed —jeans and a green cowl-necked sweater— and leaning against the counter drinking coffee. Veronica detoured into the room and Pam greeted her with a yawned, "Good morning."

A walking and talking picture of a bad night's sleep. Maybe more than one. Sans makeup, the circles under Pam's eyes were bruise-dark and her body was stiff. A spring wound tight and about to snap. "Lumpy mattress?"

Her brows knit together and then the confusion cleared. "No, the pull-out was fine, thanks." She grimaced, shaking her head. "Actually, it could have been a bed of nails and I wouldn't have noticed." She put her empty cup in the Keurig and hit brew. "My sleep" —she used air quotes around the word— "was a cocktail of bad dreams and flat-out worry."

Veronica didn't know how to respond to that so she remained silent. Pam had good reason to worry. There was no guaranteed positive outcome. "Were you able to bring home the surveillance video?"

Nodding, she picked up her coffee. "We keep the video for ninety days" —her nose wrinkled in disgust— "Or longer, if Joey finds the footage interesting." She sipped her coffee and started walking toward Veronica's office. "I took the entire three months we had."

Three months, six days a week, fourteen hours a day equaled hundreds of hours. Even on fast-forward it would take them forever to wade through it all. Veronica silently groaned. Or maybe it wasn't that silent, because Pam said, "Don't worry, it's date and time-stamped and searchable."

Pam pushed open the office door. The pull-out was put away, converting the bed back into a sofa. The throw pillows were in their place at the corners. All the bedding was neatly folded and stacked on a chair. Pam was definitely a considerate houseguest.

"Do you want to watch them now?" Pam pulled a stack of discs from her duffel bag, set them on the edge of the desk, and then hefted out a special DVD player the size of a ream of paper.

Veronica frowned at the machine. "Aren't they going to miss that?"

Pam shook her head as she pulled out the HDMI cable and started attaching the machine to the television. "This is the spare player from my office."

There were eighteen discs in all; each conveniently labeled —security gate, entrance, main stage, and so on— for the camera that supplied the footage. Veronica flipped through them. Her original math was wrong. Three months, six days a week, fourteen hours a day from  _eighteen different cameras_  was  _thousands_  of hours of manpower. She silently thanked the god of video surveillance for the search feature.

The title of the next disc made her pause. "There's a camera in the dressing room?"

Pam nodded. "It's perfectly legal as long as it's not hidden. All the girls know it's there; they've signed waivers."

Waiver or not, legal or not, a camera in the dressing room was an incredible invasion of privacy. Veronica half expected to see 'bathroom' on one of the DVDs and wasn't disappointed when she got to the bottom of the stack. Mens room and ladies room were the last two discs. She started arranging the pile in the order she wanted to watch them.

Eighteen security cameras. For a strip club? Excessive was an understatement. Her spidey sense started to tingle. This place was locked up tighter than a bank. "Since we know all the players were present the night of the party, let's start there." Veronica handed her the disc labeled 'security gate'.

It would probably be the most useful. The camera at the gate was angled low to record the face of the driver, and there was adequate lighting on the fence posts. The problem with a lot of surveillance systems was they produced crappy quality video. A camera needed to be focused on a small area to provide a high-level of detail —the amount of detail needed for facial recognition— and most business owners set their fields of view too wide.

There was also bad lighting, blind spots, and cameras that were angled wrong. All of which, Veronica had used to her advantage more than once.

Pam inserted the disc and pressed play. Veronica did a double take and let out a low whistle. "Wow."

The picture was so clear it could've been directed by Martin Scorsese and produced by Jerry Bruckheimer. If all the video was like this, she would have no problem identifying her suspect pool.

Apparently, Joey's perversion was going to be helpful. "Let me guess, Joey insisted on a state-of-the-art, high-def system?"

"With long-range night vision, but actually, it was Sam who installed the system." Pam rolled her eyes. "Not that Joey has any complaints about the picture quality."

Sam wanted the expensive equipment. Veronica picked up the stack of discs, flipping through them more slowly this time. These were not blurry, grainy videos used to prevent employee theft and keep the dancers safe.

Shenanigans was an upscale club for the rich and powerful in Neptune and Balboa County. The same rich and powerful people whose images were on these DVDs.  _Did they know they were being recorded? Doubtful_. Depending on their content, these could be used for anything. From contesting prenups and winning custody battles all the way to blackmail. For the Vinnie Van Lowes of the world, this was a goldmine.

"This is the night of the party." Pam was using slow-motion fast-forward to scroll. "Those are the caterers arriving with the food."

The time on the display read seven p.m. A white delivery truck stopped at the gate. The company's name — _Becker's Catering_ — was visible as it drove past the camera. According to Pam's timeline of events, she was already inside the club, setting up the room, when the caterers arrived.

Twenty minutes elapsed on screen and Pam hit pause. "Sam's car." She advanced until the driver's window of the Maserati sedan was in frame. It barely slowed on its way through the gate, but there was a quick glimpse of the driver. Pam was too slow with the pause button. She hit the back button and the driver's face filled the screen. "That's Frack. I asked Siobhan about him, she says his name is Dom."

Sam's henchmen —Frick and Frack— now had names: Dom and Michael a/k/a Mickey. "Can you take a screenshot of that and email it to me?"

Nodding, Pam hit a few buttons on the panel, and then resumed the playback. A steady stream of cars pulled up to and through the gate, but Pam ignored them.

There was a rhythm to it. The stopping car, a short wait, fence slides open, and repeat. It was hypnotic. Veronica almost missed the change in pattern as a Lincoln Navigator approached. The gate opened first and the Navigator slid right through without hesitation. That was the same thing that happened for Sam.

Veronica reached past Pam to hit pause. "Why didn't they stop at the gate?" She tapped the frozen image of the Navigator for emphasis.

"They probably have a pass," Pam said, shrugging. "All the staff —DJ, dancers, bartenders— and the private members have stickers on their cars with a barcode; it opens the gate for them."

"Would the drug dealers have stickers? Are they members?"

She started to shake her head, stopped, and frowned. "I don't think so? I'd never seen them before that night and I'm pretty good with remembering the regulars - better tips."

"Okay." Hopes of their names being on a membership list now dashed, Veronica pushed play.

A half an hour after Sam's arrival, a Cadillac Escalade moved into view. The tinted window slid down, driver leaning forward, and Pam jabbed the pause button. "That's one of them. He didn't do any talking during the buy, so probably a flunky, but he's definitely one of the dealers."

Dark hair, scruffy, square jaw, he seemed big, like he was stuffed into the roomy Escalade. "Send me this still, too."

While Pam did as instructed, Veronica found the discs labeled  _Balcony A_  and  _Balcony B_. The two staircases at the back of the house were how the private members entered the club. This way they could bypass the main floor and the general public. She held them up for Pam. "Which one leads to the right VIP room?"

Pam plucked  _Balcony A_  from Veronica's hand and switched out the DVD. Without being asked, she fast-forwarded to the approximate time the dealers would reach the stairs after parking their car. She gave it a five minute lead time, then let it play.

Veronica's impression of 'big' was accurate. The driver stood almost a foot taller than his two companions. All three were dressed alike. Dress slacks, button-down shirts under pullover sweaters, and chukka boots.  _Was there a mobster discount at Brooks Brothers?_

They watched the sequence through once. The cameras were mounted high, angled down, with a good view of the stairs and the door, but provided no close-up shots of the three men. Veronica had Pam run the video again, taking stills of each man as they reached the landing. She didn't think facial recognition would work on any of the pictures, but if she could identify the driver, maybe his known associates would clue her in as to the identities of the other two.

"This player is from your office- do Sam and Joey have their own?"

"Yes" —she ejected the disc— "and Sam has an app on his phone that allows him to see all the cameras."

Nodding to herself, Veronica stood and put the stack of discs on her desk. "Can you leave these here? I want to look at more footage later."

By way of an answer, Pam said, "Those are copies." She stood too. "Are you looking for something in particular?"

Veronica prevaricated. "I just want to get a feel for the club and the other dancers; see if I can get better stills of our bad guys." Pam looked unconvinced by the explanation so Veronica changed the subject. "We should probably get on the road."  _Because I have a date tonight_. Crossing the room to the closet, she found the black tin she wanted, and slipped it in her purse. "Karen's mother has an apartment in City Heights."

"She might not be there," Pam cautioned.

It was still the best place to start. When in trouble, people invariably turned to friends or family. They showed up looking for a place to hide, or help getting out of town. They asked for cash or alibis or a good attorney. It was why cops looking for a fugitive kept eyes on the relatives. "Just remember to introduce me as Amber and stick to our story - friends from Reno, and you've hired me to fill in for her at the club."

While Pam went to put her empty coffee mug in the sink, Veronica retrieved her car keys and checked on the kids. They were still outside with Dot. They'd moved on to the construction paper and glue part of craft time, which meant an extra-long bath tonight. Wyatt was a big fan of glue - squeezing the bottle, painting with it, trying to eat it, and getting it everywhere. Veronica smiled at the orange paper stuck to Wyatt's forehead.

Pam joined her at the window. "She has Logan's energy... and his smile."

As if on cue, Wyatt grinned, dimples appearing at the sides of her mouth, as she squirted glue onto her leg. Dottie reached for the Elmer's and Wyatt flung out her arms, gesturing with the bottle and spitting glue on the grass. Lips moving a mile-a-minute as she explained her reasons for  _needing_  the glue. "Let's not forget his flair for the dramatic and his yakety-yak."

Pam laughed. "It's cuter on her."

"I don't know; Logan thinks he's pretty cute."

"Yes, he does," Pam agreed, picking up her purse from the end table. Veronica took it as a sign that it was time to leave. She stole a last look at Wyatt —pouting at the loss of her glue— and then followed Pam to the front door.

The BMW was in its usual spot in the driveway, but the driver's settings were all different, meaning Logan had used it to drive Pam to work last night. With the seat pushed all the way back to accommodate his long legs, Veronica had to balance on the edge of the leather to start the car.

Sam Cooke's tenor belted from the radio.  _If you wanted to leave me and roam, when you got back, I'd just say welcome home; 'cause honey, nothing, nothing, nothing can ever change this love I have for you._

Veronica smiled at the musical love note.  _Okay, maybe he is as cute as he thinks he is_. She turned down the volume on the CD and adjusted the seat and mirrors. Snapping her seat belt into place, she checked on Pam and then backed out of the driveway, pointing the car in the direction of the 5 freeway.

"Did you ever meet Sean Friedrich?"

Pam didn't question the non-sequitur, but it did take her a few minutes to place the name. "Logan's old dealer?"

"That would be him." Veronica made the slight right onto Mission Bay Drive and then merged onto the freeway south.

"Once or twice —smarmy, chipmunk-cheeked bastard— he came sniffing around Dick's house looking for Logan, acting like they were  _friends_." A deep  _blech_  rolled up the back of her throat as if nauseated by the idea.  _Ditto, Pam_. "Do you think he has something to do with the dealers at the club?"

"No," Veronica said, shaking her head. "I found—" She cut herself off —best to not mention the tabloid article— and skipped directly to the question. "Did he know about Logan's overdose?"

"Definitely. That was the first time I met him; when Logan was going through withdrawal. Dick kicked him out, threatening to end him if he ever sold Logan more drugs."

That was enough proof for Veronica. The mysterious  _'source close to Echolls'_  cited in the article had to be Friedrich. The media was never above publishing stories of celebrities' kids gone wrong and selling Logan's secrets to the tabloids for some fast cash reeked of Sean.

She transferred to the Mission Valley Freeway, driving toward Qualcomm Stadium. Veronica frowned, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. Senior year, Sean was a low-level dealer for the Fitzpatricks. According to Weevil, the Fitzpatricks were still around, but they'd lost their edge after Liam was sentenced to life for killing his brother. Veronica doubted their fall from power would be enough motivation for Sean to clean up his act. So who was supplying him with his drugs now?

Nico Benedetti and the Sorokins were an option, but Veronica couldn't stroll into Nico's lounge and get her questions answered. However, she  _could_  get Sean to cough up some details on Neptune's current drug scene and identify all the players. And maybe while she was at it, she could follow through on Dick's threat to end him.

Driving past the stadium, she took the exit for the Escondido Freeway. Enough about Sean, they were getting closer to their destination and they needed to discuss how to play this visit. "Karen isn't going to trust me, so you're going to have to do most of the talking."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Try to get her to talk about the party - did she notice anything, was anybody acting strange or extra nervous, see who she thinks took the money" —Veronica glanced at Pam— "And find out if she's talked to any of the other dancers."

Silence from the passenger seat. Veronica stole another look. Pam was twisted away, staring out the side window. "Did Logan tell you about the party?"

"He did." Veronica wasn't sure if he'd shared all the details Pam gave him, but he'd told her enough for her to get a disturbing mental image of the festivities. What she didn't understand was Pam's reluctance to talk about it.

At first, she'd thought Pam was embarrassed to discuss it in front of Logan, and then she'd decided Pam didn't want to confide in  _her_. But that didn't make sense. Pam didn't seem the type to be concerned with what other people thought. And certainly not the wife of her ex-boyfriend, lover, friend with benefits.

Pam remained quiet. Veronica exited the freeway at University Avenue. It wasn't the best neighborhood, but it got nicer the further along she drove. Pawn shops, check-cashing places, tattoo parlors, and used tire stores gave way to new condos, trendy restaurants and Starbucks, and in the midst of the gentrification stood the Department of Health and Human Services. Veronica made a left on the next block.

"The parties didn't start out that way; the girls were just dancing, and I wasn't involved. Then Karen came to me and said things were… escalating. The members were propositioning the girls, offering them money for sex —with them, with each other— and they weren't nice about it." Pam gave that a minute to sink in before continuing, "Some of the girls quit working and some of them… let's just say they were happy to make the extra cash."

Veronica found the first available spot and parked. They could walk to the apartment. She didn't want to be driving. She wanted to give her full attention to the rest of Pam's story.

"I wasn't happy with any of it. I went to both Joey and Sam to get it stopped. Joey told me to lighten up, everybody was having a good time, and the girls were getting paid." Her mouth twisted in disgust. "I tried using logic with Sam, telling him there were enough illegal things happening at the club that we didn't need to get busted for prostitution." She shook her head. "He told me not to worry about it; said the members would never report him to the authorities."

Overconfidence or blackmail? Possibly both. "If you wanted it stopped, then why—"

"Was I performing at the party?" At Veronica's nod, Pam met her gaze, holding steady eye contact. "I have to be there. The girls are my responsibility, and I need to keep them safe."


	13. Love Remains the Same

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

_I need to keep them safe_. Apparently, Sam wasn't the only one who was over-confident. There was no way Pam would be able to protect the girls in that situation. It wasn't like she could intervene and bounce the guy who was getting rough. These were Sam's guests and it appeared they were given carte blanche to everything - including the dancers. Veronica frowned.

Had something bad already happened? Pam was so adamant about needing to be present to watch out for the girls. Had one of them been raped? Sexually assaulted? "Can you get me the names of the women who quit working when the parties progressed to more than just dancing?"

A short, sharp nod and Pam steered the conversation away from the party. She turned her head to stare at the stucco wall of the liquor store. "Karen's going to think it's weird if I just start questioning her."

"It's not an interrogation. Ask how she's feeling, tell her I'm going to fill in at the club for her until she's ready to come back —schmooze, engage in a little office gossip— and draw out as much information as you can. Pretend she's a customer, but instead of tips, you want facts, and you have to charm them out of her."

As Veronica finished talking, Pam turned to face her, wearing a bemused smile. "Verbal stripping?"

"Sure, let's go with that." She pushed open the door, exiting the car.

The street was a mix of single family homes and three-story apartment complexes. She'd parked close to the strip mall, anchored by Apple Liquors at its corner. Veronica walked a few paces down the sidewalk, confirming that the house numbers were going up, and then paused to wait for Pam. Karen's mother lived mid-block on the right hand side.

The boxy gray building was flanked by Spanish bungalows —one orange and one tan— and it looked out of place with its surroundings. There was no greenery in front, only a concrete slab with four parking spaces. Veronica assumed there was one for each unit. A patch of dirt running along the foundation wall was overturned; either something was recently uprooted, or someone was preparing to plant.

The entrances for the individual apartments were on the side of the building. There were two doors on the ground floor and two on a wide landing at the top of a set of metal stairs. Karen's mother was in unit four. Wrought iron fencing blocked access to the apartment doors and stairs.

Pam moved toward the steel mailboxes and doorbells mounted to the fence, her eyes skimming over the names. Before she could hit the buzzer, Veronica held out an arm to stop her.

Announcing their presence was a last resort measure. If Karen was going to turn them away, she would have to do it face-to-face. Veronica tried the gate —no need to pick a lock if it was already open— and the knob turned with no resistance. She shook her head. This was not ideal security. "While we're here, convince Karen to move. If we found her this easily, so can the bad guys."

Without waiting for a response, Veronica started up the stairs. The closer door had a tarnished metal number three tacked above a peephole. She flattened herself to the wall, letting Pam precede her to the next apartment while staying out of view of the window. Through the thin wall, Veronica could hear Judge Judy telling someone to  _'keep it simple, stupid.'_  The television clicked off seconds after Pam's knock, but there was no response from inside the apartment.

Too late to pretend you're not home. Veronica motioned for Pam to knock again. "Tell her it's you," she whispered, sotto voce.

Pam did as instructed, knocking a little louder, and calling, "Karen, it's Pam." Still no response. She held out her hands and shrugged the question:  _what do you want me to do?_

Veronica mimed another knock, but as Pam raised her fist, the door opened.

"Why are you here?" Karen demanded, her voice raw and rough. She was slouched low in her bulky sweatshirt and a large swath of chestnut hair covered half her face. One brown eye moved past Pam to zero in on Veronica. "And who is she?"

"This is my friend, Amber." The lie was smooth, no hesitation, and no giveaway glance toward Veronica. "I wanted to see how you are and she volunteered to drive." It was a flimsy excuse for Veronica's presence, but Pam sold it when she lowered her voice and added, "They know my car."

Karen stepped back, opening the door wider, and Pam disappeared into the apartment. Veronica hustled after her before Karen decided the chauffeur could wait in the car. The door shut behind them. Karen relocked the deadbolt and fastened the door chain.

Murky daylight penetrated the window shades and dimly illumined the apartment. Dust motes hung in the air. A one-wall kitchen on the left was separated from the small living room by a pony wall. There was no dining table or breakfast bar. Veronica guessed that meals were eaten while sitting on the sofa in front of the television.

An open suitcase, clothes spilling from its sides, was shoved against the side of said couch. More clothes were strewn over a matching armchair, and pillows and blankets were in a tangled heap on the floor. Appearances said it was a one bedroom apartment and Karen was sleeping on the sofa. That, and she was a lousy houseguest. She should take lessons from Pam.

Karen slumped into the chair, atop the clothes, and reached for the lamp. Raising her arm allowed the voluminous sleeve to pool around her elbow, revealing a short cast-the kind used for wrist or forearm fractures. She flicked on the light and Veronica got her first good look at Sam's work.

Greenish-yellow bruises ringed Karen's neck. They were darker in the front —almost black— as if someone exerted more pressure at the base of her throat, possibly with their thumbs. Her bottom lip was swollen and cracked.

A sharp intake of breath came from Pam at the sight of her friend. Leaning forward, she reached over the coffee table and gently took hold of Karen's chin. She lifted her face, freeing it from the curtain of hair. A large gauze bandage ran the length of her cheek from eye to chin. "I'm so sorry, Ren," Pam murmured.

Karen's rapid blinking indicated imminent tears. If she fell apart, they would never get her to talk.

"Were you in an accident?" Veronica's question made both women turn their heads to stare at her, Pam's expression confused and Karen's angry.

"It wasn't any  _accident_." She glared at Pam. "Did you tell her that?"

Fully recovered from Veronica's dumb routine, Pam shook her head. "No, I didn't want…" She fell silent for a beat and then said, "Amber's going to dance at the club; she's going to fill in for you."

"I thought you said you were friends?" Karen sized up Veronica. "Obviously not good ones."

"She won't be upstairs."

_No, I won't_. Stripping was already skirting too close to the edge; participating in the private parties would be akin to throwing herself head-first off the cliff. Her... or Logan. If she even  _hinted_  at the idea of going upstairs, he would come undone.

Veronica sat on the sofa next to Pam. A hard stick jabbed the base of her spine. No, not a stick. Twisting her arm behind her, she felt along the sofa cushions and pulled out a black slide shoe with an acrylic vamp and rhinestone-covered platform. She studied the offending heel, judging its height at nine inches and its sharpness a ten; she rubbed the small of her back.

"You can put that anywhere," Karen said, referring to the heel.

Veronica started to lean forward, intending to set it on the coffee table, and stopped. She nudged Pam's foot with her toe, prodding her to get on with the conversation.

"Do you need anything? Food?" Pam gestured toward the empty take-out containers and pizza boxes littering the coffee table. "I can go shopping for you?"

Veronica slid her hand into her Coach bag at her side. Her fingers rooted through the purse until they found the black tin. Popping the case open inside the bag, she palmed one of the bugs, and pulled out her hand.

"I don't need food; I need you to give 'em the—" Karen glanced at Veronica and changed her sentence. "Give 'em what they want."

"Me?" Genuine surprise colored Pam's response. It didn't exactly prove she wasn't the thief, but it bolstered Veronica's confidence in Pam's innocence. "You think it was me?"

They stared at each other, neither of them paying attention to Veronica. It was a tense moment and she used it. Scooting to the edge of the sofa, she set the high heel on the coffee table with her right hand, and reached under the table to plant the listening device with her left.

"Not really." Karen's voice lacked conviction, but the tension abated and her shoulders relaxed. "I thought it was Lacey or Siobhan. But the dealers" —her fingers reflexively touched the bandage on her cheek— "said it was you."

The dealers? Veronica thought Sam and his guys were the ones to rough up Karen? It was frustrating to sit on the sidelines and let Pam handle the questions. She prodded Pam's foot again, trying to get her to ask for more details.

Pam frowned. Her gaze flicked to Veronica and back to Karen. "On the phone you said, Frick and Frack were the ones…"

"Oh, they were there too - it was a regular party. Dom called it pooling resources." Karen crossed her arms over her chest, curling into the chair. "They accused me first, tellin' me they  _knew_  I had it, and when I wouldn't confess, they demanded I tell them who it was."

"And you told them it was me?" Pam's lips parted, and she shook her head in disbelief.

"I didn't tell them it was anybody; they started throwin' out names and finally settled on you. I don't know why and I didn't care, I just wanted them to leave."

This was not good. If they'd already decided Pam was guilty, it wouldn't be long before they 'pooled their resources' and paid her the same kind of visit. Actually, they were long overdue. Veronica looked at Karen's neck again. The green bruises were fading to yellow, which made them almost a week old.

Seven days. Why hadn't the goon squad been to see Pam or any of the other dancers?

Maybe they  _had_  been to see the other dancers and she just didn't  _ask_? Veronica fought the urge to thwack her forehead with the heel of her hand. This wasn't an old V8 commercial. She was so busy playing stripper, and thinking about secret DNA tests, that she wasn't focusing on the case. Pam had said they'd threatened Tyler and Veronica didn't even question it. When did they threaten him? And what sort of threats did they make?

"Have you talked to the other girls?"

Karen shook her head. "I didn't want them finding me." She eyeballed Pam. "How did  _you_  find me?"

"You told me your mom lived in San Diego." Not a direct answer, but Karen seemed to accept it at face value. Pam's gaze slid to the front door. "Maybe you should consider moving; do you have someplace else you can go?"

"I have a brother in Sacramento."

Pam nodded as if that settled the matter and silence descended on the room.

She was doing her best to check off all of Veronica's talking points, but she was struggling. Pam fiddled with the strap of her purse- anxious and uncomfortable and not at all like the woman Veronica had gotten to know over the past few days. Hearing that she was the dealer's prime suspect, along with the new chill emanating from Karen, had thrown her. It was time to intervene and end Pam's distress. "Sooo...Shenanigans- not a good place to work?"

Holding up her cast, Karen rolled her eyes, and smirked, silently asking,  _what do you think?_ But then she relented, "The girls are nice and the money's good. The customers" —she shrugged— "they're… okay, I guess. Not sleazy like in some other clubs, but they have this attitude."

Veronica didn't need clarification; she understood that attitude. Entitlement. It was the shroud clinging to everything in Neptune. "And what about Joey?"

"Acts like he's the boss, but he doesn't do nothin' except stare at our tits; Sam's the one in charge."

Tilting her head, Veronica played dumb. "Sam?"

Karen and Pam exchanged a look. Whether it was Karen reprimanding Pam for not warning her about Sam, or if she was seeking permission to speak freely, Veronica couldn't be sure. The silent conversation continued with a slight nod from Pam and an answering shrug from Karen, which cleared the confusion. Permission.

It made sense. If Veronica was really just a dancer looking for a new job, hearing about Sam —with his mob connections and private parties— would probably make her tell Pam thanks, but no thanks. Obviously Karen's loyalty to Pam was greater than her desire to protect Veronica.

Maybe Veronica was wrong about the lack of conviction in Karen's voice earlier. Maybe she  _did_  believe Pam was innocent.

"Sam is…" Karen's voice trailed off and she raised her face to stare at the ceiling, as if the right adjective for Sam could be found on its white plaster surface. "He's... distant." Her voice rose at the end of the word like it was a question. "He doesn't see us as  _people_ , you know what I mean? We're a product. When he looks at you, he's not really seeing you. Oh, he'll comment on our looks —not enough makeup, hair's too short— but that's just marketing."

It was a very perceptive observation and Veronica was impressed. "Got it; anything else?"

"Yeah" —Karen leveled her with an intense stare— "Don't be alone with him."

The force of her words pushed Veronica back in her seat. "I won't," she promised, more for an absent Logan than for Karen. His bouncer plan was now the best idea she'd ever heard. Waiting a beat, she turned in her seat, directing her next question to Pam. "Why won't I be upstairs? What happens up there?"

To her credit, Pam kept her face expressionless, showing neither surprise or alarm, but she stumbled over the answer. "It's uh… for members and uh …private parties."

Veronica looked at Karen. "Did you work the parties?"

"Sometimes." She stood and started gathering the clothes from the chair. "I should pack if I'm gonna go to my brother's house." It was a dismissal; she didn't want to talk about the upstairs at the club. Not that Veronica could blame her.

"Do you want us to help?"

Pam's unexpected offer froze Karen in place. A deer in headlights, she blinked, and then bowed her head to stare at the pile of clothes in her arms. She wasn't going to pack anything. It was a ploy to get them to leave. Veronica wondered if she even  _had_  a brother in Sacramento.

"No." Dropping the clothes on the coffee table, she said it again with more force. "No. I can do it myself. Thanks though." She glanced around the room. "It's not much and my mom will be home soon if I need help, but I don't… need help."

What was the line about protesting too much? Veronica was tempted to stay, if only to hear how many new ways Karen could tell the same lie. Instead she picked up her purse and stood. "Ready Pam?"

Nodding, Pam followed suit, taking up her bag and standing. "If you need anything, Ren, call me, okay?"

Karen mumbled something unintelligible; it could've been _I will_ , but more likely it was,  _not a chance in hell_.

They walked through the door and Veronica paused on the other side of it, listening to Karen refasten the deadbolt and watching Pam navigate the metal stairs. Something was niggling the back of her brain, but the more she chased it, the further she pushed it away.

She walked after Pam, catching up to her at the car. "When did they threaten to hurt Tyler? Was it before or after they beat up Karen?"

Stopping mid-reach, hand poised above the car door, Pam craned her neck in the direction of Karen's apartment. "After." Her eyes clouded. "Do you think she was lying? And that she did tell them it was me?"

Veronica shrugged. It was possible. But Karen was also being tortured; she would've told them anything they wanted to hear. "Was it Sam and his guys, Mickey and Dom? Or was it our unknown dealers who threatened Tyler?"

"Sam." She jerked the car door open. "He was trying to be subtle at first- asking how old he was and if he'd started school yet. Sam  _never_  asks about our personal lives." She slid into the passenger seat and waited for Veronica before continuing. "He said it must be tough being a parent because all you want to do is keep them safe."

Her voice changed, dropping a register to impersonate Sam's voice, "Don't you want to keep your son safe, Pam?" Her hands clenched and she thumped them against her thighs. "Then he said if I told him where his money was, he would make sure nothing happened to Ty."

Veronica had to commend Pam on her self-control. If someone had threatened Wyatt or Bailey like that, she would've clawed their eyes out.

"He actually called him  _Ty_ , Veronica, like a benevolent uncle who  _cared_  about him." Rage gave way to anguish, her face crumpling and her downcast eyes turning glassy.

"We'll…" Veronica almost said  _get him_ , but Sam wasn't the target of her investigation. He was definitely  _a_  bad guy just not  _the_  bad guy. The idea was unsettling. It went against her moral imperative. She needed to solve the case  _and_  make Sam pay. Joey too. If for nothing else than being a sleaze.

And speaking of sleaze. "Karen's warning about Sam — _don't be alone with him_ — what's the story there?"

Veronica checked the rearview while she waited for a response, and drove past the freeway entrance ramp, staying on University Avenue. It would be stop-and-go with the traffic lights, but it was a well-populated street, and she wanted to vary their route home.

"Same as the coke, Sam likes to sample the product before he buys." Her tone was flat and emotionless.

Veronica's gaze slipped to Pam —sitting upright, facing forward, and eyes staring blankly through the windshield— and asked, "By force?"

"No," Pam replied, shaking her head, and then she frowned, twisting in her seat to face Veronica. "At least, I don't think so… is that why you want the names of the dancers who quit?"

Nodding, Veronica slowed the car for the yellow light. Instead of stopping, she waited for the red and gunned the engine, blowing through the intersection while leaning on her horn. A check in her mirror confirmed that no one tried to follow.

"Is there someone behind us?"

"Just being cautious."

The traffic and their conversation slowed to a crawl as the street merged into Washington and approached the San Diego Freeway. Veronica took the highway. When they passed the airport, Pam slid low in her seat to watch a plane on approach. "Does Logan miss flying?"

How to answer that question? There wasn't much Veronica could tell her about Logan's job.  _She_  didn't even know all the details, because she lacked the necessary security clearances, and also the technical understanding. Yet telling Pam he had his own plane just sounded pretentious. Veronica settled on, "He still flies."

"Does he miss the Navy?"

_Yes_. Logan loved being home with the girls and he liked his job, but you don't find your calling —the thing you're born to do— and walk away from it without regrets. She knew this. Nine years of experience was a good teacher. Returning to Neptune and private investigation felt like finding a piece of herself that had been missing. She was satisfied with her life, both personally and professionally, and she worried the same might not be true for Logan. It was a sensitive subject in their house. Despite Logan's constant reassurance that he was happy with his choice, she still feared one day he might not be.

None of which she was inclined to share with Pam. "Not as much as he missed being home with Wyatt."

"I can imagine; he's completely devoted to her and Bailey."

Veronica smiled. "Trust me, the feeling's mutual. Wyatt takes the term 'Daddy's little girl' to a whole new level- as she does most things."

Pam laughed. "She's very spirited."

_High_ -spirited, and the proof was on the front lawn as they pulled up to the house. Wyatt was running across the grass, charging toward Dick. When she got close, she jumped in the air for him to catch her. He grabbed her by the middle, lifting her over his head, and spinning in a circle. Her loud laughter traveled down the block. "Do 'gain!"

"My arms are tired, kid." He sat her on the hood of his Hummer, and she immediately wriggled free of his steadying grip with the obvious intent of climbing on the big SUV. Dick hooked his fingers in the waistband of her jeans, picking her up, and putting her on the ground. Before Wyatt could protest, he said. "Chill, your mother's here, and she doesn't look happy." Dick flashed his most ingratiating smile. "Hey, Ronnie."

"Dick." Veronica eyed the Hummer. "So… exactly how many times have you let her climb onto the roof of that monstrosity?"

A one-shouldered shrug. "We needed a break from all the baking."

"Me bate nolees, Mama." Wyatt threw herself at Veronica, wrapping her arms around her legs, and squeezing her knees. A big grin bloomed on her upturned face.

Veronica brushed her fingers across Wyatt's forehead, pushing back the hair, and then bent to kiss the top of her head. "Nolees?" The question and a raised eyebrow were directed at Dick.

"Cannolis. Ty and Wy" —he smiled at his rhyme— "helped stuff the shells."

"Where is Tyler?" Pam asked, crossing the lawn to join them.

"He's still baking. Little two percent got bored so we came out here." The easy use of Wyatt's unwanted and unwelcome nickname told Veronica that Dick used it way more than she'd suspected. As she opened her mouth to chastise him, he rushed to cut her off, saying, "Logan asked me to bring dessert for tonight."

Right, tonight - their date for Italian food. A family dinner… with Pam and Tyler and now Dick. Not at all what she was expecting. Veronica sighed.  _At least there'll be manicotti, and I can drown myself in sauce and cheese_.

"I'll go check on Ty and get our stuff; are you ready to leave?" At Pam's question, Veronica's head jerked in her direction, a perplexed frown on her face. Smiling, Pam said, "We're going to eat at Dick's restaurant tonight, and then Dick's going to watch Tyler when I go to work."

"Little dude is going to be my sous chef."

Veronica didn't know when Logan had arranged this, but his name was written all over these plans. Did he corner Pam when she walked in the door at four-thirty this morning?  _Look, you gotta go, because my wife is a jealous crazy woman?_  Whatever. Veronica didn't care how he'd managed it, just that he had. Even the thought of Dick being solely responsible for a child for an entire night didn't give her pause. Okay, maybe she was a  _little_  concerned, but surely he knew how to dial 9-1-1, right?

Wyatt tugged on her shirt, and pointed to the Hummer. "Me cwime?"

Shaking her head, Veronica scooped her up. "Your climbing days are over. At least on that thing. Right, Uncle Rich?"

Wyatt's face scrunched and Dick chuckled. "If you want that name to stick, you need to stop calling me—"

"Yeah, I get it Dr. Seuss," Veronica said, cutting him off. "Let's go inside and you can show me your cannolis."

"That's what she said," Dick joked and Veronica rolled her eyes. Seriously, this was the man Pam was going to leave in charge of her child?

They trudged into the house en masse. As soon as the door closed behind them, Wyatt demanded freedom, and Veronica put her down, watching as she raced into the kitchen to  _see the nolees_. The adults followed at a more sedate pace.

"We're making cannolis," Tyler announced to the room. He was standing on Wyatt's cooking-with-Daddy stool in order to reach the counter. Dottie was holding a cannoli shell while Tyler used both hands to squeeze the pastry bag, overstuffing it until the top started cracking.

There were two dozen pastries on the counter. Twelve neatly arranged and perfectly filled and twelve… not so much. A bag with unfilled shells waited nearby.

"I hope you're taking some of these with you?" Veronica peered into the big mixing bowl in search of filling. It was made exactly how she liked it, with ricotta  _and_  mascarpone and a generous amount of chocolate chips. She dragged her finger through the cream and stuck it in her mouth.

Dick surveyed the trays. "Nope, I made the perfect Ronnie amount."

She rolled her eyes, picked up a cannoli, and was all set to take a bite when Wyatt piped up with, "Me eat?"

Veronica's gaze swung between the tempting dessert and a waiting Wyatt. Sighing, she put the cannoli down. Being a responsible parent and setting an example sometimes sucked. "After dinner, sweet pea." To distract her, Veronica suggested that they clean up. It was Wyatt's latest phase, wanting to  _cwean,_ and she scampered off to get her mop and bucket.

The four adults —correction, the three adults and one Dick— managed to tidy the kitchen while the kids wreaked well-meaning havoc in their attempts to 'help.' Once everyone was gone, Veronica was finally able to wrestle the mop away from Wyatt, assuring her that there was in fact  _more_ than enough water on the floor.

Wyatt stomped her foot in a puddle, making it splash. Grinning, she did it again, shouted, "Boots!" and raced from the room.

In her absence, Veronica shoved a cannoli in her mouth.

Logan's laughter made her spin around, almost losing her footing on the wet floor. She gripped the edge of the counter to catch her balance and grumbled, "Not funny," around a mouthful of her sneaked dessert.

"Oh, but it is, Lucy." Navigating his way through the water, he set the bags from Luigi's on the table. "Where's Ethel?"

"Getting her hip waders and a fishing pole, we're going to see who can catch the most fish," Veronica deadpanned as she swallowed the cannoli.

He shook his head, muttering, "Mira qué cosa que tiene la mujer esta."

Wyatt returned, carrying her red-and-black ladybug rain boots. "Daddy!" Tossing the boots, she launched herself at Logan. "Me…  _I_  cwean."

"Are you sure?" He kissed her forehead. "Because I think the mop is supposed to pick  _up_  the water."

She leaned over his arm to stare at the floor, nodding to herself in confirmation that the floor was spotless and Daddy was wrong. Squirming free, she sat in the water to pull on her boots.

Veronica left them to splish-splash, first to peek in on a sleeping Bailey, and then to get towels. Logan stole up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and kissing her neck. "So how did Waterworld, the sequel, happen in our kitchen?"

"Dick. He actually filled the bucket." She turned, balancing a stack of towels. "I mean has the man not heard of  _pretend_?"

"Oh, I'm sure he's experienced faking it" —Logan smirked— "But it had nothing to do with mopping."

Rolling her eyes, Veronica started for the kitchen. Wyatt was in a resting squat- knees bent, feet flat on the floor, and her butt in a puddle. She was smacking the water with a wooden spoon, making it splash, and her giggle. Veronica started tossing towels on the wettest areas.

Looking up, Wyatt saw what she was doing and frowned. "No, Mama."

"Uh…" Veronica stared at the towels for inspiration. "We have to… have a dance party?"

Dropping the spoon, Wyatt clapped, and then her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Rain boots, towels, and water did not equal a dance party. Veronica dropped the rest of the towels to find her phone, searched YouTube for Chubby Checker, and hit play. Placing a towel under each foot, Veronica started doing the twist.

Wyatt jumped up. "Me do, me do."

Twisting across the floor to her, Veronica helped Wyatt get her booted feet on two towels, and then held her hands as they danced up the water.

"I expected to find a lot of pouting and crying… and for Wyatt to be upset too." Logan was lounging in the doorway, holding Bailey cradled to his chest. He'd changed into a worn pair of jeans and a crew neck tee.

Veronica pantomimed fake laughter at his unfunny joke and inclined her head toward the baby. "Did the music wake her?"

"Either that or, like a true Mars, she smelled pasta and cheese."

"Wabbit!" Wyatt clomped across the floor, stopping midway to sit and pull off her boots. Leaving them where they landed, she continued to Logan and Bailey. She bent her head back to see him. "Too tall."

He scooped her up with his free arm and she rested her head on his chest, face to face with her sister. Wyatt kissed Bailey's nose and patted her cheek. "Ni' nap, wabbit?" The baby gurgled at her.

Veronica picked up her phone, stopped the music, and took a picture of them. She needed this. A night of kitchen floods, messy children, and her husband. Veronica slid her arms around his waist, squeezing in between her daughters to lay her head in its place on his chest, right above the comforting thud of his heart. "You always know."


	14. Let's Stay Together

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

He always knew what she needed...except when he didn't. Case in point - one paternity test. On that issue he was being purposely obtuse. It wasn't that he was ignoring her need, he just didn't  _see_  it.

Last night was perfect in its ordinariness. They ate dinner, took care of bath time, and watched a movie before bed. They didn't talk about her upcoming audition, his job as bouncer, Pam, Tyler, or the case. It was a silent mutual agreement to shut out the world for the night. Unfortunately, she saw it as a  _suspension_  of things they still needed to work out, and he saw it as a _resolution_  - a return to status quo.

Veronica knew he felt this way. Evidenced by his words right before they had fallen asleep,  _"We just need to keep this case separate from us, Veronica. From you and me and our family."_

But this case  _was_  their family. Not the 'who stole the coke and cash' part, but the return of Pam and the existence of Tyler. Logan having a child with another woman would forever change their family and his blindness to that reality was frustrating.

She rolled onto her side to stare at his sleeping form.

He was half-sitting, half-slouching against a pile of propped-up pillows. Bailey was on his chest. Her pacifier —in danger of being washed away by the drool leaking from her open mouth— was clinging to the corner of her lips. Logan had one hand spread over the baby's back and in the other was an almost empty bottle. They'd clearly fallen asleep during Bailey's four a.m. feeding and not moved since.

Veronica kissed his shoulder and climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb them.

It wasn't that he was avoiding the problem, or pretending it didn't exist. For him the matter was settled. Pam said Tyler wasn't his. End of story. That left Veronica alone with this weight. She needed the results of the paternity test. If they came back negative, she could do exactly as Logan suggested- treat this like a regular case and compartmentalize, keeping their family life apart from the investigation. If they were positive, then…

She didn't know what would happen at that point, but at least she wouldn't be the only one trying to figure it out.

Keeping her shower short, she did her hair and makeup and dressed for her appointment, donning black leggings, an olive-green ribbed top with a handkerchief hem, and her go-to Rag & Bone leather booties.

Back in the bedroom, she checked on the baby. Her lips were puckered and she was sucking on air. She was patting Logan's chest in search of the now-missing pacifier and growing restless with her inability to find it, squirming and twisting her head. Logan was motionless.

Kneeling on the mattress, Veronica felt the sheets, and ran her fingers down his side, searching for the pacifier before Bailey started to cry. "Poking isn't my idea of foreplay, but I can work with it," Logan said, voice woolen with sleep and eyes still closed.

"You wish; I'm looking for her binky." She swore the thing was magical, immediately becoming invisible the second it fell out of Bailey's mouth. There had to be a hundred of them hidden around the house, mocking her and her inability to find them.

"More in the drawer."

Too late. Bailey opened her eyes, releasing a loud, plaintive cry. Logan jerked fully awake and bolted upright. He rubbed the baby's back, making soothing noises, to which Bailey responded by crying harder. "You'd think it was the end of the world."

"Mm-hmm, overly dramatic." Veronica stripped the covers from the bed, shaking out the blanket in search of the pacifier. "I wonder where she gets it from?"

"I'm just the right amount of dramatic, thank you very much." He pulled open his nightstand drawer. " _Fuck_ ," he hissed. "There are no more." As proof, he held up the empty MAM package. "Now what?"

"Gee honey, you'd think it was the end of the world." The sarcasm dripped. Getting on her hands and knees, she pressed her face to the floor, and scanned under the bed. Seriously, how far could the thing have rolled? It wasn't a ball.

"Why wabbit cwy?"

Great, now the entire house was awake, and she was going to be late. Getting up, Veronica bumped her head on the bed and muffled a curse. Wyatt stood in the doorway, clutching Cuddles and rubbing her eyes, waiting for an answer. "She lost her binky."

"S'okay, wabbit." Mimicking Veronica, Wyatt knelt on the floor and peered under the bed."Me get." She crawled into the darkness and returned with the pink and gray pacifier. Apparently, they were only invisible to adults.  _Don't trust anyone over thirty_  should be the company's slogan.

Logan held out his hand and Wyatt shook her head, holding it tight to her chest. "Me do."

Complying with the request, he sat on the edge of the bed so Wyatt could reach. She wiggled the binky into Bailey's mouth until the baby realized what is was and clamped down. Blissful silence followed. "Poor wabbit."  _An indictment of their parenting skills handed down by a toddler_. She kissed Bailey's nose and patted her cheek.

An affectionate smile curved Logan's mouth. "Okay, since everyone's up, who wants blueberry pancakes?"

"Choc'ate chip?" Logan started to say no, when Wyatt tilted her head to add, "Pease?" And Veronica knew he was a goner. Sure enough, he nodded agreement, and Wyatt slid off the mattress, skipping from the room, singing to herself.

"Don't say it." He held up a hand to silence her.

"Say what? That you're wrapped… easy… a pushover… a soft—"

"Hey, it's not my fault she's almost as irresistible as her mother. Besides, the baby whisperer" —he waved his hand over a now-sleeping Bailey— "deserves her chocolate chips. I might even put bananas in them."

"Be careful, Echolls, it's a slippery slope to caramel sauce and whipped cream."

"That sounds like  _your_  kind of breakfast, not hers." He gingerly placed the baby in her co-sleeper. "But you know if you tilt your head and ask nicely, I might be persuaded to make it for you."

"Rain check. I have to leave, but Dottie will be here early so you can get ready." She tossed the blankets back on the bed and picked up the empty pacifier packaging. "I'll stop at the store and get more of these on my way home."

"Appointment?"

"I'm going to try and ID our not-so-friendly neighborhood drug dealers."

Stopping mid-nod, he frowned. She watched his expression shift as all the possible ways she might track down the dealers ran through his mind. Worry lines crinkled the corners of his eyes and his jaw clenched, lips thinning into a grim line; there was a little twitch in his left eyebrow, but he didn't say anything. Not with words. He stroked her cheek instead, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and kissed her nose. Roughly translated -  _I love you, please be careful_.

"Don't worry, I won't be trolling dark alleys looking to score; I'll be in a nice" —she stressed the word— " _safe_  office, staring at a computer screen."

"So I only need to worry about eye strain and carpal tunnel and" —his hands slid down her back and cupped her ass— "secretary spread."

She tapped a finger to her lips, pretending to contemplate his dilemma. "Too stressful for you? Because I could always strap on my gun and head down to the corner of Seventeenth and K."

"You could… if you wanted to kill me and make it look like natural causes."

Veronica smiled. "Since I'd rather keep you around, the office it is." Threading her fingers through his hair, she pulled his head forward for a kiss.

"Daddeee!" The impatient bellow from the vicinity of the kitchen broke them apart and sent them in different directions- Logan to get a pair of sweatpants from the dresser, and Veronica to the closet for a jacket.

They walked down the hall together.

Wyatt was sitting on the kitchen floor, a big mixing bowl squeezed between her legs. Measuring cups, wooden spoons, and a lone fork were scattered around her, and she was struggling to rip open the bag of organic, whole grain pancake mix.

"Guess she started without you."

Logan smirked. "I should know better than to keep a Mars waiting for food." He crossed the room, shutting cabinet doors as he went. "Need some help?"

Raising her face, Wyatt grinned at him. "I cook." He sat on the floor with her and she held out the bag. "Daddy do."

Veronica went to get her keys and purse and then returned to the kitchen to say goodbye. Wyatt accepted the kiss on her cheek, but was too busy pouring chocolate chips to acknowledge Veronica's leaving.  _Priorities_.

It was only a twenty minute drive to the FBI building.

She'd considered taking the photos to Leo. The SDPD was at the forefront of facial recognition software. For years everyone in the department, from the regular beat cop to the top brass, had been using handheld devices to amass a huge database of photos. There had been challenges to the practice, by both regular citizens and civil liberties activists, but it still continued. So, for all of two seconds, Leo made sense. But then she'd decided there were already too many exes in their lives. Plus, she couldn't ask Leo for her other favor.

She made the U-turn necessary to reach her destination and parked in the front lot. The white-brick, windowed building was just as bland as she remembered. Fortunately, security moved faster this time around, granting her access to the lobby with five minutes to spare. Veronica cut across the tile floor toward the elevators and was stopped by a guard at the desk. "Can I help you?"

"I have an appointment with Special Agent Townsend; I know the way."

Standing, he shook his head. "Visitors need—"

"Veronica Mars." Gil Townsend emerged from the elevator with one long stride. "It's good to see you again."

"We need to stop meeting like this." She pointedly looked around the lobby. "Friends don't make friends wait for personal escorts through the building." They shook hands. "Haven't I earned a hall pass?"

An enigmatic smile crossed his face as he waved toward the elevator, allowing Veronica to precede him.

He'd sent a gift when Bailey was born, but they hadn't seen each other since Gina's shooting. Lamb had wanted to arrest her for killing Gina and Logan had immediately called Gil. He'd come to the house, surveyed the scene, and said it looked justifiable to him. A clear case of 'defense of others.' He didn't have jurisdiction, but his presence, and the ongoing FBI investigation of Gina's involvement with the Sinaloa cartel, were enough to smooth things over with Lamb. Veronica owed him one.

"How's Wyatt doing?"

Veronica waggled her hand in a so-so gesture. "A little wary of strangers, but no more bad dreams, and she's still swimming."

Gil nodded. "And you?"

"Working a new case that could use an assist." She knew his inquiry was about her mental state, but that was a subject better left for… never. "Specifically from the FBI's Next Gen ID System."

An arched brow and silence were his only responses.

Unlike most people, Veronica didn't rush to fill the conversational void, remaining quiet until the elevator doors  _whooshed_  open and they were walking toward his office. Same open bullpen, but instead of weaving left through the cubicles, he went right. "New digs?"

"New, but not improved." And he wasn't joking. It was an exact duplicate of his former office. Veronica didn't understand the point of the switch if it wasn't for more space. She shrugged. God and the government both worked in mysterious ways. "What do you have for me?" he asked, waiting for her to sit before taking his position behind the desk.

"Photos." She took the four printed stills from her messenger bag and laid them on the desk followed by a thumb drive with the digital images. "Can you run them through IPS?" The Interstate Photo System used the biometrics of facial recognition to comb through millions of images.

"These two won't work" —he pushed aside the pictures of the dealers taken as they walked up the back stairs of Shenanigans— "Not enough detail." The other two photos he moved closer and took his time studying. "I'm guessing these are not fine, upstanding citizens?"

"You got it in one." She touched the photo of Sam's henchman. "He works for Sam Carlucci, mobster and part-owner of a strip club called Shenanigans. I think his first name is Dom… Dominick."

A deep frown marred his brow.

Before he could voice his concerns about the mob and her safety, Veronica pointed to the other photo. "He's a drug dealer. I'm thinking low-level aiming for a promotion. He, and his associates" —she waved at the two discarded photos— "tried to sell five kilos to Sam at twenty grand apiece."

"Tried?"

Veronica nodded. "During the buy, both the cash and drugs went missing." She sat back. "I was hired to find out who stole it."

"You're working for Sam Carlucci?" He managed to sound both outraged and disappointed at the same time. It was such a good dad voice, Veronica almost asked if he'd been chumming around with Keith.

"Of course not." She sketched in the details of her case, omitting Pam's name and her prior relationship with Logan. "My client got me a job at the club —I start tomorrow— and before going in, I'd really like to know the names of all the players."

As he considered this, his pen started tapping a steady beat on the edge of his desk. "I'll see what I can do with these - ask around about Carlucci and his associates." The pen stilled. "What happens when you find the thief?"

"I turn them in to protect my client." The ramifications of that scenario were clear and unpleasant. Veronica just hoped she could find something to nail Sam to the wall  _before_  it came to that. Changing the subject, she asked, "Do you know anyone who can do some DNA tests for me?"

"There are plenty of private—"

Veronica cut him off with a shake of her head. "I've already collected the samples." Her statement let him know this wasn't your standard testing while still being vague enough that he could have deniability about pesky things like legality and consent.

An appraising stare from Gil. "I have a friend." Taking a legal pad from his desk, he wrote the name, Oscar Jiménez, a phone number, and an address. "He owes me a favor." He ripped the sheet from the pad, folded it in half, and held it aloft between his thumb and forefinger. "And now  _you_  owe me one."

Smirking, she said, "I think the line is: someday, and that day may never come, I'll call upon you to do a service for me."

A deep appreciative chuckle rumbled from his chest. "But until that day, accept this justice as a gift on my daughter's wedding day."

Veronica rolled her eyes, plucking the yellow sheet from his fingers. "Call me if you get anything from the photos."

"Will do." He stood and walked her back to the elevators. "Give Logan my regards." Leaning into the open elevator car, he pushed the button for the lobby, and blocked the door with his forearm. "And tell Wyatt Gilly said hi."

She nodded as the doors closed between them.

It was too early to pick up her lunch bags of DNA from Wallace's apartment. Veronica figured he was probably in the middle of teaching health class.  _Kids, this is what happens when you have unprotected sex - one day your future wife will steal your DNA for a secret paternity test_. She could always use her key, but she needed to give Gil time to get in touch with his friend.

Starting the car, she turned her head to stare at the freeway.

She should go to the office. Mac would be done with the rest of the background checks by now, including the one on Sam. An outstanding warrant for a crime with a lengthy prison sentence would be too much to hope for, but his police record would make interesting reading. His and Joey's.

They also had to discuss Amber. She'd decided against asking Mac to create a backdated outcall permit. The request would draw too much attention to what she was planning to do and she didn't want Mac —or Keith— to know she was undercover as a stripper. Instead she'd make Amber's history follow her own. Replace Stanford with stripping at the Seventh Veil, exchange her gap year with a stint dancing in Reno, and swap Columbia for entertaining at bachelor parties in New York, and they were practically twins.

Now all she'd need from Mac was a way to link Amber to her deceased great-aunt, Anne. Veronica frowned. Maybe she could turn on the phone service at the decoy house and make the utility bills come in Amber's name.

Go to the office. That's what she  _should_  do, but what she  _wanted_ to do was see Logan.

Her eyes moved to the dashboard clock. Even after she factored in the half hour drive to his job, it was too early for him to take lunch. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Mac could always email the background checks. Taking out her cell, she sent Logan a text:  _You and me - lunch? What do you satay?_

A few seconds passed and her phone chimed with:  _Your pad (Thai) or mine?_

Smiling, Veronica tapped out her response:  _Yours, curry puff. Noon_.

She sent one more text to Mac, asking her to email whatever information she'd gathered, and tossed her phone on the passenger seat. Putting the car in gear, she left the parking lot.

Proper weekly date nights weren't feasible. They only trusted four people to watch the girls and they didn't want to exhaust those babysitting options. It was easier just to meet for lunch. Sometimes Logan would come to her, but it made more sense the other way around. Her schedule was flexible.

Charm Thai Kitchen was a frequent haunt. Small, with raw wood walls, a quiet corner booth for two, and good food. Veronica could kill an hour drinking Thai iced tea (and reading her email from Mac) while waiting for Logan. Best part was, the staff would leave her alone, while silently refilling her drink and letting her hog the table without complaint. Being a regular had its privileges.

Veronica got her tea and an order of cream cheese wontons and took them to her table. Opening her laptop, she went right to Gmail. The message from Mac had six attachments and contained two words: call me. Wanting her call to fly beneath Keith's radar, she avoided Mars Investigations' main number, and dialed Mac's cell.

Without preamble, she said, "You need to open the PDF named Sam."

"Hello to you too, old buddy, old pal, old friend of mine." As she spoke, Veronica double-clicked the attached file. The first page contained a complicated flowchart. Half of the boxes were empty; the other half contained names like Carl Enterprises, SCE Holdings, and Prism Capital. "Want to tell me what I'm looking at?"

She scrolled through the pages of corporate records while Mac talked.

"I went back to the original incorporation papers for Shenanigans and noticed that shares of the club were owned by a company called Exotic Ventures with an address in the Seychelles." Her voice rose with excitement. "When I searched the address, I found  _thousands_  of hits for different websites and businesses linked to it."

"Thousands?"

Mac continued, "I used LexisNexis to identify owners and corporate officers, and looked on Who Is to see who registered the website domains. There's also an entire online database with leaked offshore accounts."

With a new understanding, Veronica went back to the flowchart and followed the arrows. "Exotic Ventures is owned by EM, Inc., which is owned by SCE Holdings - they're shell companies."

"Exactly. So far I've been able to tie five of them back to Sam, but there could be more; I'll keep digging."

Veronica frowned, unsure if she should have Mac continue to search. Sam owning shell companies was interesting, but in and of itself, the information meant nothing. There were legitimate reasons for shell companies and offshore accounts. "Instead of searching for more companies, can you see what other assets these entities hold? I doubt Sam put together this shell game just to hide his ownership of Shenanigans."

"I can try, but it might be easier if I knew how this all worked. Don't suppose you know any forensic accountants?"

"No" —she banged her forehead on the edge of the table— "But my dad does."

It was the same accountant who, back in the day, investigated the missing money from Logan's trust fund. Not only a certified public accountant, she was also a certified fraud examiner, and whenever Keith had to 'follow the money' on a case this was the person he called. If Mac went to Keith for the name, he would want details. Details Veronica didn't want him to have. She banged her head on the table again. "Scratch that. Let's wait a few days; see what you can find on your own before we get the accountant involved."

Mac chuckled. "In other words, don't tell Keith what I'm doing."

"I didn't say that -  _you_  did."

"Because I speak Veronica. Maybe not as well as Logan, but I get by." Mac paused for effect. " _Aaand_  speaking of your dad, he's been looking for you."

"Without finding me?" Veronica  _hmphed_. "I mean really, what kind of detective is he? Can't locate his own daughter. They should pull his investigator's license." She glanced up at the sound of the door chime and watched Logan approach the table. "I need to go, my assignation is here."

He smirked at the word choice, leaning over the booth to kiss her as she hung up the phone. "It's a very G-rated place for an afternoon tryst," he said, before kissing her again.

"I'm sure you could make it work." He dropped onto the bench across from her, his long legs invading her space. Veronica tucked her legs between his knees. "Of course, the Holiday Inn  _is_ just down the road." That was another frequent lunch spot for them.

"Good times." His gaze caressed her face, slid down her neck, and over her body, turning up the heat in their cozy booth. ""It would be worth getting fired to spend the rest of the day in bed with you."

"Okay" —she smiled— "But let's eat first; you're going to need the energy."

"Tease." Picking up her hand, he kissed her fingers, and directed a pointed look at her laptop. "Is this a working lunch?"

"No," she said, shutting the computer and returning it to her bag on the floor. "But I've got a question."

"When do you not?" An indulgent, amused grin toyed with the right corner of his mouth.

Veronica found it comforting that he could still be charmed by that quirk in her personality. "How did you set up the shell companies to transfer the ownership of our house?"

"There's a company in Wyoming that incorporates shell and shelf—"

"Shelf?"

Their food arrived. More cream cheese wontons for her, tom yum soup for him, and chicken pad Thai for two. Logan must have ordered on his way to the table. Veronica dunked a wonton in the plum sauce, waiting for their server to depart and Logan to answer her question.

"You create a company that remains inactive. It sits on a shelf aging until you need it for nefarious purposes, like hiding your millions from the divorce attorney." He poked at his food. "Aaron had one."

It was probably his insurance policy in case Lynn decided to leave him. She'd sold her soul —and her son— to the devil in exchange for botox and designer clothes. Logan's feelings about his mother were conflicted, but Veronica's not so much; Lynn had failed.

"Mac has uncovered six different shell companies connected to Sam." She outlined the ownership of Shenanigans. "Any idea what he's using them for?"

Shrugging, he speared a piece of chicken. "Maybe he's trying to avoid paying taxes."

_And maybe they were serving sno-cones in hell._  "I found Karen; Pam and I went to see her yesterday." A quick lift of his eyebrows beckoned for her to continue. "She was… off. I couldn't even tell if she  _liked_  Pam, one second she acted friendly and the next downright chilly." Veronica stared across the restaurant, mechanically eating her last wonton.

Logan called her name, undulating each syllable, and waving a hand in front of her face. She blinked. "Sorry, just trying to nail down what bothered me."

Reaching over the table, he used his thumb to free her bottom lip from her teeth. "That's no reason to maul my favorite lip; you'll figure it out."

She kissed his thumb. "It's not that… on our way to Karen's, Pam said that a few of the girls quit working when the parties degenerated. It was actually  _Karen_  who told Pam what was happening and then, during our meeting, Karen warned me away from Sam. Her exact words were, don't be alone with him."

Logan followed her train of thought without a problem. "You think Sam raped Karen?" She nodded and his expression turned grim. "If Pam hired her, put her in that situation, it could explain the iciness."

"That's possible." Averting her face, she focused on the ceiling fan. A confluence of events, impaired people, and a rape. It was a situation all too familiar to her. She hugged her chest.  _Pam could be the target of Karen's rage, just as Madison was the target of mine. Or maybe I'm just seeing shadows on the wall._

"Hey," he whispered, calling her back to the present. His face was ashen. "I don't like this, Veronica. The idea of  _you_  in that club, surrounded by scum. There has to be another way." Logan extended both hands, palms facing out, and Veronica pressed hers to his, interlacing their fingers.

"There isn't." She squeezed his hands. "But you'll be with me the entire time."

He shook his head. "I just don't understand your  _insistence_ … do you know they did a study and found that  _one hundred percent_  of dancers were physically assaulted inside the clubs where they worked?"

"Statistics, really? What did you do, search Google for ways to scare Veronica?"

"Yeah, it said: outlook not so good." He smirked. "No wait, that was the magic 8-ball." The sarcasm did little to mask his feelings; his doleful eyes gave him away. He stroked his thumbs over hers. "I can go undercover by myself —plant bugs, talk to the dancers, search the VIP rooms— and feed the information to you."

The memory of Gina holding a gun to his chest, threatening to kill him in front of their daughter was still raw. "And if something happens to you? How is that any better?"

"At least I won't have to live with myself."

She frowned at him. "Together, Logan; we do this together."


	15. Fire Meet Gasoline

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Together.

Yesterday, he'd accepted her terms and then made a few of his own demands. No being in the club without him, period. She had to carry her gun. And, if there was even a  _hint_  that her cover was blown, she needed to leave the club immediately - do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.

The requests were few and reasonable and she'd readily agreed. Maybe a little too quickly, because Logan hadn't seemed convinced of her sincerity, making her repeat the list back. He'd been so serious, she'd thought he was going to require a blood oath. Which is why she wasn't surprised he'd stayed home from work today.

It was audition day.

Veronica burrowed deeper into the bed, snuggling closer to Logan. He kissed her neck. They were spooning on his side and trying not to fall off the edge. Wyatt had crawled beneath the covers during Bailey's feeding, commencing a hostile takeover of the mattress, and was now occupying a full half of the king-size bed. Sprawled on her back, arms and legs flung wide, she was a footed-pajama-wearing starfish.

"How can someone so little take up so much space?" Logan murmured the question, lips pressed to her skin.

Veronica rolled in his arms to face him. "Sheer force of will?"

Stroking his thumb over her cheek, he smiled and touched his nose to hers. "Just like—" She cut off his words with her mouth, giving him a long, unhurried, good morning kiss. His hand glided down her back, settling on her ass, and his knee slipped between her thighs. He was slow to end the contact, his lips returning for another taste or two before pulling back to say, "You can't kiss me like that when we have tiny visitors in our room."

"Sure I can." She kissed him again, swallowing his groan. "It's my prerogative."

With his fingertips, he gently traced the contours of her face, and the curve of her cheek. "I love you, Veronica Mars."

"Then how 'bout getting me some breakfast?" Her stomach growled on cue, causing him to grin. "I've been dreaming about cannolis for the past three hours."

"First, I thought all your dreams were about  _me,_ and second—"

"Oh, you were there; I was licking cannoli cream off these fine, fine abs." Her fingers smoothed down his stomach and dipped lower, toying with the waistband of his boxers. She batted her eyes at him. "I may have licked other things too."

His eyes darted to Wyatt and back. "You're a mean, cruel woman."

"A mean, cruel,  _hungry_  woman." She threw a leg over his body, rising to her knees to straddle his waist. "Who also needs to start getting ready." She attempted to get off the bed and he cradled her hips, holding her in place.

"You have to wait until I call Pam."

It was his final demand - that he be present during her audition for Joey. He'd argued that it fell under the 'no club without him' rule, and she'd vetoed it as a bad idea. If his first time in the club coincided with hers, they'd be connected in Joey's memory. They might as well just wear 'I'm with Stupid' t-shirts.

She sat on his stomach. "The club is closed in the morning; no one else will be there."

"Exactly my point."

"It's a job interview, Logan. We'll talk, I'll dance, and then I'll come straight home- an hour tops." Leaning forward, she kissed him. "I'll even put my gun in my purse before I go."

"You'll do that anyway, but I'm still going. Pam will walk me around the club, explaining the job and my responsibilities —a training session— and Joey won't even notice me."

Shaking her head, she pried his fingers from her body and stood. "Section four, paragraph six, subsection 22 of our partnership states that  _I'm_  the one with the detective experience. And I say, you stay home."

"You're not going to distract me with your lawyer-speak, even if it does turn me on." Sitting, he swung his legs off the bed. "We're past the fighting stage of this case, remember? It's all about togetherness." He got up, closing the space between them and returning his hands to her hips. Ducking his head, he pressed his lips to her ear. "Now what do you say we practice that  _togetherness_  in the shower, counselor?"

Their absence from the bed disturbed Wyatt. She popped up from the mattress, words spilling out of her mouth as if she'd stored up ten hours of conversation in her sleep. "Me eat 'rina… sinman." Grabbing Cuddles by the ear, she slipped off the bed and held out her hand, palm up, questioning. "Appo too, okay?"

Logan laughed. "Looks like someone else was dreaming about food."

Wyatt peered into the co-sleeper to look for Bailey. "Time get up, Wabbit."

They scrambled to reach her —Logan over the bed and Veronica around it— before Wyatt could shake the bassinet and wake the baby. He got there first, scooping her off the floor and onto his shoulders. "It's not time for Rabbit to wake up."

She leaned over his head, trying to see his face. "Yes," she said with the resolute determination that only a toddler could muster.

He smirked. "Sure,  _now_  she knows the word yes." He carried her toward the door. "Bathroom first, and then we'll have farina with cinnamon and apples for breakfast."

Veronica watched them leave before checking on Bailey. Head turned to the side, the baby was sucking her binky and staring through the mesh with unfocused, bleary eyes. If the room stayed quiet, there was a chance she'd fall back to sleep, but it was doubtful. She was probably hungry, and she'd start to cry as soon as she realized nothing was coming out of the pacifier.

Tiptoeing across the room, Veronica got the bag with her costume from its hiding place in the closet. Logan deciding to stay home made leaving the house dressed for her audition slightly more complicated. She took down her black trench coat. It would cover the see-through halter dress, but the shoes were a problem. The metal studded shoes looked like what they were - stripper shoes.

Veronica shrugged. He knew she wasn't running off to join a convent.

Bailey was fussing, kicking her feet and waving her arms. Tiny cries of  _neh, neh_  were increasing in volume. Veronica dumped her stuff on the bed and picked up the baby before the mewling turned into wailing. "I'm sorry your sister keeps waking you up, Rabbit." She stuck her finger in the baby's mouth, letting her suck on it while she got settled in the comfort rocker to nurse. "She firmly believes that if she's up, we should all be awake."

It was the egocentric, it's-all-about-me stage of development. Unfortunately, Wyatt's arrival in their room at four a.m. had undermined Veronica's strategy for leaving Logan behind this morning. Hopefully, making breakfast would keep him distracted long enough he'd miss his chance to call Pam.

Without speaking to her, he wouldn't be able to arrange his dry run as bouncer. Even if he did manage to phone, Veronica's new plan was to be dressed and out the door by the time Dottie arrived. It would give her at least a thirty minute head start while he got ready; if her luck held, she'd be halfway through her audition before he showed.

She brushed the soles of Bailey's feet with her finger and gently blew warm air across her face to keep her from going back to sleep, encouraging her to take a full feed.

Dancing in front of Pam in rehearsals made Veronica stiff and uncomfortable. The idea of dancing in front of her when she was  _with_  Logan was… troubling. It increased her anxiety level higher than the thought of performing for Joey-the-Perv.

She absently twisted her wedding and engagement rings with her thumb. She'd never had a problem going undercover, pretending to be someone else, but she'd also never done it with Logan. The five minutes at the Sunset Regent when they were looking for Lynn didn't count. This was a prolonged period of time where she would have to pretend to not know her husband. Worse, she would have to do it while watching him with Pam, and listening to the rumours about their relationship.

Bailey was done. After burping her, Veronica changed her diaper then tried nursing again, but the baby wasn't interested, sucking for comfort instead of food. She got a pair of sweatpants, put Bailey in a pastel-striped romper and headed to the kitchen.

Logan was trying to get Wyatt to eat a slice of turkey bacon. She shook her head, nose wrinkling in distaste; Veronica silently agreed with her. "It's just like regular bacon," he coaxed.  _Yeah, if you were missing some taste buds_.

Wyatt was having none of it, declaring, "No like," and returning to her farina.

Veronica eyed Logan's plate of scrambled egg whites with spinach and whole wheat toast, echoing the  _no like_  assessment of their daughter. She kissed Wyatt's head, draped the sweatpants over Logan's shoulder, and put Bailey in her bouncer. "She's fed and changed and ready for some Daddy time." Crossing to the fridge, she kept her back to them, and smuggled out a leftover cannoli. "I'm going to shower."

"What about breakfast?"

"I'm good," she said around a mouthful of pastry, hustling from the kitchen to the sound of Logan chuckling.

She rushed through her shower, wanting to spend more time on her hair and makeup. The advice from Pam was to dress like she would when performing. It made sense, but Veronica didn't know how to define her own personal stripper style.

Deciding to affect the look that worked on Logan, she created shimmery smokey eyes and applied a dark kohl liner. She used a little brow powder for definition, applied a peach glow blush, and completed the look with nude lipstick. Leaving her hair down, she used a wide flat iron to create a wavy look with loose, bouncy curls, and declared herself done. She donned her costume and covered it with the trench coat.

For a second, she considered sneaking from the house without saying goodbye, but Logan would freak. He'd probably come racing to the club dressed only in the sweatpants she'd brought him. The kitchen was empty. Frowning, she walked through to the living room. Also empty. "Logan?"

"He left already," Dottie answered from behind her.

Startled, Veronica whirled around. Dottie was carrying Bailey in one arm; with the other she was holding Wyatt's jacket and the diaper bag. "You're early," she said, wincing at her slight accusatory tone.

A quick negative shake of her head. "Logan called me last night with the time."

_Tricky bastard_. Sometimes it sucked having a husband who knew her so well. He'd used  _her_  ploy and executed it better. Acting all laid-back while eating a leisurely breakfast and the entire time he was plotting to beat her to Shenanigans. He'd probably talked to Pam  _days_  ago.

Dottie lifted the hand with Wyatt's jacket, explaining its need, "I'm taking the kids to the aquarium as soon as Tyler's done helping Wyatt accessorize. Think she's going to choose flippers and—"

"Tyler's here?"

Nodding, Dottie put the diaper bag on the coffee table. "Pam dropped him off when she picked up Logan."

Thereby confirming her suspicions about his call to Pam. Veronica didn't know if she should be angry or impressed. But she didn't have time to stew about it now. She said goodbye to Dottie, suggested a warmer outfit for Bailey, and left the house without interrupting Wyatt's fashion search.

Veronica drove in the same direction as the aquarium. Too bad Logan hadn't confided Dottie's plans for the day. They could've joined the kids after the audition. She loved exploring the tide pools with Wyatt and walking through the hall of fishes, but Veronica seriously doubted her outfit would pass muster with the other mothers lunching in the Splash Cafe. The dads might like it, though.

This time she was prepared for the turn, finding the narrow, winding road with ease and climbing the cliff toward the club. She pulled up to the driveway gate, located the intercom box on the stacked stone pillar, and rang the bell. A sultry female voice announced, "Shenanigans," like she was answering a phone instead of the door.

"This is Amber; I have an audition with—" The connection went dead and the wrought-iron gates parted.

Veronica followed the curving, tree-lined drive. The tumbled bluestone pavers led her past the trees to a clearing with breathtaking views of the ocean, and a mansion that looked like it belonged on a plantation.

A valet was waiting to take her car. Veronica turned over her keys and stood in the drive, staring at the antebellum manor. The gable-fronted house with its fluted columns and paned double-hung windows was beautiful and unlike any strip club she'd ever seen in her life.  _Stop dawdling_. She climbed the steps to the portico. As her foot hit the landing, the double wood doors swung open with such precise timing, she wondered if there was a sensor.

"Amber?" A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped through the doorway. "I'm Joey Bianchi," he introduced himself, moving closer and invading her personal space. His bulk was imposing. Veronica started to extend her arm to shake hands and he turned away, walking inside with the high-handed expectation she'd follow. "You know Pam from Vegas?"

"Reno," she corrected, and he waved away the distinction as unimportant.

"How long you been dancing?"

Pam was older than her by four —almost five— years, which made it necessary to age up Amber so Veronica knew the precise answer. Yet being too exact would sound false. "Off and on since I was eighteen."

"Where else have you worked?" His voice bounced around the marble foyer, creating an echo. He caught her staring at the twin mahogany staircases and said, "Nice, right? Nothing but the best for my customers - no expense spared."

Veronica was sure those expenses were paid with someone else's dime, namely Sam's. "I was at The Seventh Veil and then I moved to New York- no clubs there, mostly private parties." The word choice was intentional.

Joey took the bait. With a new gleam in his eyes, his gaze roamed over her body, taking inventory and reassessing the interview. "Your coat part of the act or can we leave it here?"

'Here' was the coat check closet. She hadn't planned on getting almost naked until it was time to dance, but the coat wasn't part of her routine, and Amber wouldn't be shy. Veronica undid the belt, slipping off the Burberry and passing it to him.

He took a slow walk around her in a tight circle. There was no touching, but she could feel him looming over her. When he'd completed his survey, he tossed her coat across the counter, and said, "We do private parties here; you could make real money if you're willing."

There was no end to that sentence: willing… to do what? Perform live sex shows, prostitute herself, spend time on his version of the casting couch? The possibilities were endless. Veronica gave him a non-committal shrug. She'd brought up the parties to open the door for later questioning. Asking too many now would seem odd. He was interviewing her, not the other way around.

She followed him through a set of open doors to the right of the stairs. From Pam's crude blueprints, she knew this was the former library and location for one of three satellite stages. A massive stone fireplace dominated one wall, but the focus was the stage. Custom Chesterfield leather sofas and lounge chairs were arranged through the space, each with an equal vantage point.

There was no sign of either Logan or Pam.

"We're going to use the main stage." Joey pointed, indicating she should lead the way.

How did Karen put it?  _We're a product_. Well, Veronica definitely felt like produce. She could feel his eyes giving her ass a thorough inspection for freshness.

The walls between rooms were removed, creating an open floor plan, and the library flowed into the ballroom. Veronica paused, looking back to Joey for direction.

"You can give your music to the DJ." Nodding toward the booth, he took a seat in a leather chair the color of old parchment. Made to resemble a wingback, its rear legs were lower to the floor, creating a comfortable reclining position that provided easy viewing.

The DJ booth was discreetly tucked away beneath the staircase landing. Veronica's gaze wandered upward. It was as Pam described, a balcony that overlooked the main floor. She passed the DJ a USB stick, which he accepted with a salute and sly leer.

On her way to the stage, she heard Pam, "—be working here."

Fighting the urge to turn around, Veronica waited for the music to start. Her timing was perfect, reaching the pole in sync with the line:  _and I just can't resist the urge to stand here in the light_. Joey was a rapt audience. A little too rapt. His intense focus was creeping her out. Pam's advice —think of Logan and dance for him— had her gaze moving past Joey in search of her husband.

His back was to her. Posture rigid, tension turning his spine to steel, he was bracing himself for the inevitable.

They weren't alone. Another woman was with them. A tall brunette with doe eyes and skin-tight jeans. She was talking to Pam and casting occasional glances at Logan. Tight jeans said something and jutted her chin toward Veronica, making both Pam and Logan turn in her direction.

Veronica hooked a leg around the pole, crossed her ankles and did a corkscrew turn. She body-rolled herself up and looked to Logan. The tension in his frame was different now. It was a subtle shift, but one she recognized.  _I get off on you, getting off on me_.

He smiled at something Pam said, nodding his head, and not breaking cover. But his eyes were on Veronica, following her every move. She climbed the pole, inverted her body, and slithered her way to the floor. Raising her arms, she undid the tie of the halter dress and slid her hands down her body, peeling the dress away from her skin. The tip of Logan's tongue flicked over his bottom lip and his hand touched his belly. His sex tells. Unmistakable to her, and unnoticed by anyone else. Veronica's heart thudded with the beat of the music.

_It's so much more exciting to look when you can't touch_.

She held onto the pole, pulled her leg back into a wide circle and hooked herself around it in a backward spin, ending the routine on her knees. Tearing her eyes away from Logan, she faked a smile for Joey who shifted in his seat, crossing his legs. "You can start tonight at nine, but come early so Pam can get the paperwork squared away."

Veronica redressed while he talked. The job offer posed a dilemma. She hadn't planned on starting tonight; she was thinking tomorrow at the earliest. With both her and Logan working at the club, they'd need to switch Dottie from days to nights  _and_  come up with a reason that wouldn't raise Keith's suspicion. But she certainly couldn't explain this to Joey. Childcare was a real-person problem, and she wasn't a person to him, only a commodity.

Logan bent his head, whispering something into Pam's ear, and she stepped forward. "Tomorrow night would be better."

And sometimes it  _didn't_  suck to have a husband who knew her well.

Frowning, Joey stared at Pam, clearly annoyed by her undermining his authority. "What are you doing here?"

"Showing the new bouncer around." With her finger, she beckoned Logan closer. At his approach, Joey stood and shook his hand while Pam made the introductions. Again, there was an invasion of personal space, but this time Joey puffed out his chest and put his hands on his hips. He was trying to exert dominance, intimidate Logan, and it wasn't working.

There was no cowering. Logan pulled himself up to his full height, hands at his sides, and his head held high. No tension in his posture; he was relaxed, but ready. The glint in his eyes said,  _go ahead and try_ , and it matched the daring smirk on his face.

Joey backed down, putting distance between them and returning his attention to Veronica. "Tomorrow night, then. Be here at eight."

Tilting her head, Veronica smiled at him and said, "I will, and thank you so much." Her simpering tone soothed his ego.

"And come see me when you're ready to work the parties." His gaze landed and lingered on her chest, then dipped lower. "You'll be a big hit."

Although tempted, Veronica didn't dare look at Logan. She gave Joey another flirty smile. "I'll  _definitely_  come see you." His answering smile bordered on obscene. Not bothering with further pleasantries, Joey turned on his heel and sauntered from the room. Now she looked at Logan. His expression was neutral, but his eyes were flint. Remembering they weren't alone, she said, "I'm Amber, by the way."

He took her proffered hand in his, surreptitiously stroking his finger across the center of her palm, and said, "Logan."

He let go of her hand as Tight Jeans joined them. Pam introduced her as Reina Fields.  _The_  Reina Fields, friend from Vegas who had sex in the champagne room, and earned a hundred and eighty grand last year. "It's nice to meet you," Reina said with the same sultry voice that answered the front gate earlier.

"Same here." They shook hands. Veronica was torn. Part of her wanted to stay, ask some questions, but the bigger part of her wanted to go home and put on clothes. Or, if she was reading the situation right, take them all off. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I promised The Boy I'd be home after my audition, and I don't want to keep him waiting" —she paused for an intentional beat— "He can be a bit of a jerk about these things." Veronica felt rather than saw Logan stiffen at the comment. She grinned. This stint undercover could turn out to be fun.

"Been there, done that." Reina brushed her hands together as if to say,  _good riddance_. "I'm going to head out too."

With a wave, Reina took her leave, and Veronica followed suit, returning to the front door to collect her coat. The valet had already retrieved the BMW. He was standing next to the car, keys in hand, waiting for her. This was taking servility to the extreme. Just how wealthy were the customers at Shenanigans? And were they all from Neptune?

Thanking the valet, Veronica got in the car and took off down the drive. As she approached the wrought iron fence, a black Hummer lumbered up behind her, Logan at the wheel. She smiled in the rearview and blew him a kiss, pushing down on the gas pedal and shooting through the still-opening gate. She'd correctly read his tells. Veronica increased her speed to match the anticipation rushing through her. This was going to be way better than lunching at the aquarium.

Keeping one eye on the road and the other on the mirror, she weaved in and out of traffic. She didn't want to lose him, but she didn't want him to catch her either. When they were a few blocks from the house, she floored it, running through the intersection as the light turned red. She made a wide turn at the corner and cruised slowly down the block and into the driveway. Keys in hand, she crossed the lawn and climbed the steps of the porch.

Logan reached the house seconds behind her, the slam of the car door signaling his arrival. Veronica turned the key in the lock, then reached inside to turn off the alarm and drop her bag. Footsteps on the stairs, and his arm coiled around her waist, spinning her around to face him. His mouth covered hers, rough and possessive. She scratched her nails across his scalp, grabbing fistfuls of his hair, returning the kiss. They tumbled through the open door.

Yanking his mouth away, he asked, "Kids?"

"Aquarium."

"Good" —he kicked the door closed— "Because I think you need some practice."

Veronica blinked. "Practice?"

"Mmm-hmm." Hands in her hair, he pulled her head back to kiss down the column of her throat. "Your routine - it needs a little work." He walked her backwards toward the garage. Nimble fingers undid the belt of her coat, while his mouth reclaimed hers in another demanding kiss. Sliding the coat from her shoulders, he pushed it down her arms, letting it puddle to the floor.

Reaching behind her, Veronica blindly fumbled for the doorknob to the mud room. She twisted it open and grabbed the front of his shirt, leading him through the room to the garage. "Based on this reaction, I'd say my routine was perfect."

"Well, I am a bit of a jerk about these things." He nipped her bottom lip and then sucked it into his mouth to soothe the sting. His hands cupped her ass, knee slipping between her thighs. Jeans scratched the sensitive flesh as she rubbed herself against his leg. Logan pressed his lips to her ear. "Dance for me," he rasped, his warm breath caressing her cheek.

Nodding, Veronica returned her feet to the floor and stepped away. Curling her fingers in the waistband of his jeans, she tugged him forward, guiding him to the workout bench. She released her hold. Running her palms up his chest to his shoulders, she pushed him down. Logan tracked her movement across the garage to the CD player. She changed songs. The opening strains of piano filled the space.  _It's dangerous to fall in love, but I want to burn with you tonight_.

It was very different. Dancing at the club, compared to performing for Logan here. There it was just a show, and she'd used him to get through it. To forget about Joey ogling her. Knowing she'd turned Logan on had bolstered her confidence, but she hadn't felt sexy. Her routine was just that - a routine.

This felt more intimate. It was seduction. Watching his eyes darken with lust turned  _her_  on, heat pooling low in her belly and making her breasts heavy. She slithered down the pole and rolled her body. Tossing her hair, she looked over her shoulder to see him and he was off the bench, stalking toward her.  _We're bristling with desire, the pleasure's pain and fire_.

His hand stroked the curve of her ass, sliding to the small of her back and up her spine, pushing her lower, her body bent over. Veronica let her head fall forward and tightened her grip on the pole. She could feel the hard length of him through his jeans as he pressed himself against her. Rotating her hips, she pushed back, grinding into him.

Logan gripped her hips, stilling her movements. He hooked his fingers into the sides of her g-string and yanked, tearing the flimsy material. It fell to the floor; a triangle of black silk on concrete. With his thigh he spread her legs wider. Rough denim grazed her sex and she moaned.

"Are you wet?" Reaching around, he cupped his palm over her, and slid two fingers deep inside. He pumped his hand, scissoring his fingers and then crooking them forward, stroking her g-spot. "Wet and ready."

He pulled them out and stroked her clit, back and forth, spreading her wetness. Adding his thumb, he scraped it across the tip. Veronica's legs trembled; her breath loud and ragged. Logan kissed her spine. "I'm going to make you come for me."

He increased the pressure, sliding her clit between his fingers. Pleasure rocked through her. Logan braced his chest against her back. His other hand dipped beneath her dress, gliding over her belly to cup her breast. He teased her nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it at the same time he tugged her clit.

Veronica came hard and fast.

"Beautiful," he murmured, lips brushing her spine, and then he was gone. Veronica felt the loss. Turning her head to look for him, she started to rise and let go of the pole. Logan gripped her wrists, bringing her hands back to the metal bar. "Keep them there," he growled, voice rough. Her pulse stuttered.

He moved behind her, guiding the tip of his cock into her. Need made her strain against him, trying to take him deeper. He pulled out. "Don't move."

Grabbing her hips, he shoved his way inside, and she arched in response. A low groan escaped her. He pulled completely out and did it again, over and over. Thrusting deeper with each stroke, her back bowing to accommodate. His grip tightened on her hips, fingers digging into her skin. Tension coiled in her belly, cinching tighter with each deep slam. She clutched the pole, trying to remain upright. The sound of his body slapping against her ass echoed through the garage.

Hands slick with sweat started to slide down the pole, bending her lower until her wrists touched the floor. Veronica's body shook, her orgasm making her knees buckle. " _Fuck_ ," Logan hissed through clenched teeth. He chanted the word with each frantic thrust until he was coming deep inside her.

Then, slipping out, he sank to his knees and lifted her from the floor, cradling her on his lap. Logan brushed the damp strands of hair away from her forehead and kissed her. "That was incredible,  _you're_  incredible." He showered kisses across the bridge of her nose. "I love you, Veronica."

She wound her arms around his neck and he gently rubbed them. "I love you, too."


	16. Love and Money

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

They wound up in bed for a repeat performance. It was slow and loving-less frenzied, but still just as satisfying. And this time they remembered the condom. Logan kissed her shoulder, splaying his fingers over her belly. "Don't even think about it," she warned.

"Thinking won't make it happen." Nuzzling her neck, he sucked on the hollow above her collarbone. "Didn't anyone ever teach you the birds and the bees?" His fingers caressed her stomach, then started walking lower. "Because if you need a demonstration, I'd be happy to oblige."

"I know where babies come from." She stopped his hand, pressing it to her skin. "They come from the aquarium… _soon_."

Logan nipped her earlobe. "Plenty of time."

"For a nap." Smiling, she snuggled closer.

"Not if you keep wiggling your ass against me like that." Wrapping his arm around her, he kissed her temple and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

Veronica closed her eyes. A nap did sound good, but she still had to look at the rest of the background checks Mac had emailed yesterday and she had to find a babysitter for tomorrow night, which might mean it was time to expand their childcare horizons. "Where's Jake these days?"

"Dottie convinced him to rent a house off base." Logan chuckled. "Despite her best efforts to domesticate him, he's furnished it with a mattress and a flat screen."

"He did that on purpose just to frustrate her." Their ongoing mother-son battle—time to settle down versus enjoying bachelorhood—was amusing to watch. Probably because it wasn't serious. Dottie would drop hints about grandchildren, and Jake would do something like buy a motorcycle and call it his new baby. "Think he'd watch the girls tomorrow?"

"Maybe, if  _you_  ask him." He kissed her shoulder. "People find it hard to say no to you."

"Really? Because you never seem to have that problem."

Logan snorted his dissent with her statement. "You could always pitch the babysitting as a way to prove he's not ready to be a dad." Which was completely untrue, because Jake was great with the girls. "And you may have to bake for him."

Nodding, she trailed her fingers along his forearm. "So what did you think of Shenanigans?"

"Creepy as fuck. The only things missing were the ghost twins and a hedge maze."

Veronica agreed. There was definitely more going on than stripping and sex shows. "And Reina?"

"She remembered me from Vegas." He shrugged. "Apparently, I met her once when I was visiting Pam."

That wasn't the greatest news in the world. Gossip was one thing—it could be ignored or denied—but Reina being able to create an  _actual_  link between Logan and Pam was not good. That meant Pam had hired not one, but two, old friends in a matter of days. Suspicious for sure. Veronica frowned. It was too late to change her cover story now. She needed to solve this case fast and get out. She nudged Logan. "It's time to get up, we have things to do."

"I thought we were going to nap, Chatty Cathy?"

Removing his arm from her chest, she rolled off the bed. "I need to check my phone and put my gun back in the safe and you need to call Tomás to see if he can bring the money over today." She grabbed a pair of yoga pants and a scoop neck tee from the dresser, pulling them on as she left the room.

Her bag was still on the floor inside the front door. She checked her phone. There were no missed calls, but there was a text from Agent Townsend instructing her to get back to him. Scrolling through her contacts, she found his number, and hit the phone icon. He answered, "Special Agent Gil Townsend."

And she responded, "Private Investigator Veronica Mars."

"Well, here's another fine mess you've gotten me into." A long sigh accompanied the complaint.

"It's nice- another  _nice_  mess" —she shook her head— "Never mind. I'm taking it from your butchering of Laurel and Hardy that you found something using my photos?"

"You were right about one of them, his name is Dom, but I'm not sure he works for Sam - he's his nephew, Dominick Carlucci. I'll send you his sheet, it's long and industrious, but no serious time."

Dom being Sam's nephew changed Veronica's view of him as suspect. Would he steal from his own uncle? As they say, if you can't trust family…

Of course, he could've stolen the drugs at Sam's behest. It was  _possible_  that Sam orchestrated the theft himself, then made a show out of accusing the dealers and dancers. This would let him keep his money and get five kilos of coke for free...but Veronica didn't think it was  _probable_.

According to Pam, Sam was looking for a new supplier, presumably to provide party favors to the customers at Shenanigans, so stealing from them would not be good for business. He'd have the stolen coke, but no pipeline for more. Unless he was happy with his current suppliers and he'd been planning to rip them off from the very beginning? Veronica made a note to find out who set the meeting. "What about the other guy?"

"Ethan Callahan. Busted a few times for possession, but he was never carrying enough to charge him with intent." Typically an intent to distribute charge required the person be holding more than needed for personal use. "I'm checking his known associates, see if I can ID your other two, but… Callahan is too much of a guppy to be swimming with a shark like Sam Carlucci."

She narrowed in on the description of Sam. "Shark?"

"He's not a nice guy, Veronica. He's been suspected of everything from prostitution to drug trafficking, but nothing ever sticks. You remember what they used to call John Gotti? The Teflon Don? This guy is like that only better, they never even get him to trial."

And the hits just keep coming. Her hope of getting Sam arrested, thereby freeing Pam from his grip, went up in smoke. "Any more good news for me?"

"No, but I put some feelers out with other agencies, maybe they'll have more to tell us." Veronica started to thank him for his help when he interrupted. "Oh, and Oscar said you can bring your DNA samples by any time tomorrow."

Before hanging up, Gil promised he'd call on Monday if he learned anything new. Veronica plugged her phone in to charge and carried her bag to the bedroom.

Logan hadn't moved. Stretched across the bed on his stomach, head buried in the pillows and naked, he made a tempting invitation. Taking out her gun, she depressed the lever and removed the magazine. "You're supposed to be getting up to call Tomás." She pushed the release and pulled back the slide.

"Are you going to shoot me?" He asked without opening his eyes, voice muffled by the pillow.

"And ruin my favorite plaything? Hardly." She pinched his ass and he smacked her hand away.

"I'm not just a piece of meat, Veronica. I have  _feelings,_ the foremost one being tired." He rolled onto his back, folded his arms behind his head. "But I might wake up if the sexy woman with the gun came back to bed."

She checked the open ejection port and then stuck her finger in the chamber, making sure it was clear. Then she locked the gun in the safe. "If you  _don't_  wake up and make that call, the chances of me coming back to bed are exactly zero."

"Well huh, I guess it's a good thing I've already taken care of it." With a flourish, he produced his cell phone from beneath the pillow. "He'll be here by six," he finished, tossing the phone on the mattress.

"He's got it all, folks- looks, feelings, and brains." Veronica planted her knees on the bed and crawled up his body. "I'm a lucky girl."

"Who's about to get luckier." His hands glided over her hips and up her rib cage, taking her shirt on the same journey. It was too slow. Crossing her arms over her chest, she grabbed the hem of the tee, and pulled it off, tossing it on the floor.

An explosion of sound erupted at the front door in the form of a crying baby, a preschooler shouting about feeding lobsters, and a toddler singing, "Five fish swim sea" at 200 decibels.

Logan pressed his forehead to hers. "Science is wrong; the loudest animal on earth is a tiny human." He fell back on the mattress. "Seriously, an F-35 is quieter."

"Is someone grumpy?" Veronica climbed off the bed. Locating her t-shirt, she put it back on, and then tossed Logan a pair of shorts. "Maybe you should've taken that nap."

If it was possible, the Five Little Fishies song climbed a few more decibels as Wyatt got closer. "Tease shark, no cat' me." It was accompanied by stomping feet, one or two thuds, and finally a smack on their door. "Mama!" The doorknob started twisting.

Without getting up, Logan pulled on the shorts as Wyatt flung open the door. "Ma—" Spotting Logan, she changed her cry to, "Daddy" and raced across the room to climb on the bed. "Me go wareium."

"Did they let you fish?" Her confused head tilt made Logan tug the bottom of her fishing vest. Tan with neon green fish sewn on the pockets, it was part of her Props-in-a-Box collection and a gift from Aunt Trina. The kits included character props, backdrops, and access to a movie making app. Trina had bought the entire series, declaring  _'acting is in her blood, Logan.'_  And he'd muttered something close to  _'over my dead body,'_ but with more colorful language.

Veronica left them making fish faces at each other and went to get Bailey. Walking down the hall, she picked up the trail of items Wyatt had left in her wake - boots, plastic tackle box, rubber shark, and a tiara. She put them all on the kitchen island.

Tyler was sitting at the table having milk and cookies while Dottie tried to feed Bailey. The baby was not cooperating, twisting her face away from the bottle and kicking her feet. "I'll take her." Bay immediately settled into Veronica's arms, expecting to nurse and was mad when the bottle was put in her mouth. She scrunched up her face, preparing to howl. Veronica engaged in a complicated swing, sway, and squat dance to calm her. "How was the aquarium?"

"It was cool!" Tyler dunked his cookie, shoved it in his mouth, and talked around it. "We got to touch the fish 'n there were seahorses." He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "We weren't s'posed to climb on the rocks, but we did."

She smiled. There was no doubt in her mind that rule-breaking Wyatt led the charge on that adventure. The dance wasn't working. Bailey refused to suck on the bottle, letting her mouth hang open, allowing milk to drool down her cheek. "Okay, you win; I surrender." She glanced at Dottie. "If you want to escape, now's your chance to make a break for it; we're home for the rest of the day."

"I might tunnel my way out, meet your dad."

A worried expression crossed Tyler's face as he looked between Dottie and Veronica.  _I'm not thrilled at being alone with you either, kid_. Thankfully, she wouldn't be. "I'll feed this one and send Logan out."

Tyler relaxed: Logan-who-flies-planes was home.

Were there team-building exercises for families? A way to make your husband's potential illegitimate child like you? There was probably a book- Step-Parenting for Dummies, or, 101 Ways to Bond with Your Stepchild. All of which sounded exhausting.

She didn't have to tell Logan he was needed in the kitchen-he was already leaving the bedroom with Wyatt on his shoulders. Veronica inclined her head toward Bailey. "I'm going to feed this one and there's milk and cookies in—"

"Cookies!" Wyatt bounced on his shoulders.

He shook his head. "We're just two ships that pass in the hallway." Leaning forward, he attempted to kiss her, but another bounce from Wyatt threw him off course. His lips glanced off her chin.

Veronica briefly touched his cheek. "We'll always have the garage."

Their daughters were staring at them with matching expressions. The meaning of the look could be deciphered as either  _you're denying us food_  or  _our parents are weird._ It was probably both. She left him to complete his mission for milk and cookies and went inside to nurse Bailey. Happy and content to have a non-bottled lunch, the baby took a full feed without any prompting, and fell asleep with minimal fuss. Veronica put her in the bassinet and then indulged in a quick shower.

When she returned to the kitchen, Dottie was gone and Logan was slicing an onion. "What are you making?"

"Carrot soup, I think."

"You don't know?"

He shrugged, staring at the recipe on the counter. "We don't have fresh ginger or dill and I'm using half and half instead of heavy cream." A ziploc bag with marinating lamb chunks was sitting on the island next to piles of mushrooms, tomatoes, and cut bell peppers. Their barbecue skewers were lying on the cutting board.

"Want some help?" Without waiting for a reply, she washed her hands and started building the lamb kebabs. "Where are the kids?"

"I caved and let Wyatt watch  _Finding Nemo_." The word  _again_  was missing from the end of his sentence, but it was heavily implied. "She's eating goldfish crackers, which just seems wrong."

Smiling, she asked, "What about Tyler?"

"Pam picked him up a few minutes ago; she left those papers for you." He waved toward the kitchen table. Veronica's gaze swung from the lamb to the table and back to the lamb. Logan hip-checked her out of the way. "Go ahead, I'll finish this."

She cleaned her hands and took a seat at the table. The papers were Pam's partnership agreement with Joey. It was standard boilerplate, starting with  _this agreement is entered into_  and ending with the signatures. The names were in that first paragraph: Joey Bianchi Exotic Ventures and Pamela Mitchell. There were no commas, which made it look like Joey and Exotic Ventures were one entity.

The shared profits and losses section was worded the same way. Seventy-five percent was assigned to the vague amalgamation and twenty-five percent to Pam. Veronica stared out the window. Either there was a side agreement between Joey and Sam as to their split, or Joey had a vested interest in the shell company.

Returning to the agreement, she skimmed the clauses as to managing partner and the signatures on checks —both Joey— and then read the paragraphs pertaining to the company books, properties owned, and voluntary withdrawal.

If this was strictly an above-board partnership, Pam could give sixty days written notice of her intent to withdraw and walk away from Shenanigans. Depending on the net worth of the business, she'd be entitled to the value of her interest or a return of her initial investment. But this wasn't a normal situation with your average business partners. Pam was trying to extricate herself from the mob.

"Pam's been partners with Sam from the very beginning." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "They buried his ownership with imprecise language."

Logan crossed to her side, picking up the sheaf of papers. Veronica pointed out the different passages and he asked, "Why bother to hide it from her? It's not like Pam checked out Joey before signing; the addition of Sam wouldn't have changed her mind."

"Maybe it wasn't about keeping it from  _her_? Maybe Sam doesn't want his name on anything." She told him what Agent Townsend said about Sam's reputation of being untouchable. "What did you say when you transferred our house - the beauty of a shell company is your ability to hide? Sam's hiding."

Logan nodded, returning the contract to the table. "But how does any of that help us?"

It didn't. At least not yet, but it was something. Mac was already trying to disentangle Sam's various holdings. If they got Keith's forensic accountant involved, maybe they could find proof of illegal dealings and Veronica could bring in the authorities. She could paint Pam as a whistle blower instead of a patsy and it would be a win for everyone. High fives all around. Veronica smirked.  _And that'll happen when the Padres win the Series._

She flipped back to the provision regarding property. The creepy beachfront mansion wasn't listed. Veronica would bet that it was owned by a different bogus company. She'd have Mac check the real estate taxes for a name. It would give her another lead to follow.

And speaking of other leads, she went back to the paragraph about the corporation's books. The accountant responsible for the annual review of the financials was listed in the agreement. Fingers crossed he worked for Sam and not Joey. Trying to bring down Sam would be easier with an insider. She'd have Mac see what she could dig up on the man. "What was the name of that accountant who became famous for being an informant?"

There was no answer. Veronica looked up from the contract to an empty kitchen. Logan was gone, along with the lamb kabobs. Getting up from the table, she peeked in on Wyatt, who had fallen asleep on the couch, spilling goldfish crackers on the cushions and floor. Veronica contemplated waking her. It was late for an afternoon nap. If she slept too long now, she'd never go to bed on time.

Veronica clicked off the television. The sudden silence didn't disturb Wyatt's slumber at all. Thanks to Bailey, Wyatt had been up and down several times last night, and obviously needed the sleep. With a resigned sigh, Veronica let her be and followed the tantalizing aroma of smoke through the french doors to the deck.

Logan was reclining on the cushioned chaise lounge —legs stretched out, eyes closed— sipping a cup of coffee. The click of the door must have alerted him to her presence because he said, "Tomás called, he's on his way."

"Okay." She crawled onto the chaise with him, settling between his legs and stealing his coffee. "Why did you leave?"

Draping his arms over her shoulders, he kissed her head and asked into her hair, "Did you even notice?"

"Eventually." Sipping the coffee, she eyed the barbecue. "Aren't you supposed to be watching the lamb?"

"I'm waiting for  _your_  charcoal to be ready." Using the arms of the chair, he pushed himself up and effortlessly swung his leg around her to stand. He crossed the deck. "Now, if I had a gas grill, we could be eating as we speak."

" _You_  would be eating, and I'd be ordering a pizza." Nestling deeper into the warm spot left behind by his body, she ogled the bunching and flexing of his well-defined back as he put the food on the barbecue. "You should always cook shirtless."

"And you should always be naked, but alas, some things aren't meant to be." Turning around, he leaned against the deck railing, crossing his legs at the ankles. "We could spread the hundred grand on the bed and  _both_  get naked, roll around in it for a while."

"Money doesn't turn me on, but I like the 'naked' and 'bed' parts of that sentence." She abandoned the chair and the coffee, moving closer to him. "Just be prepared to do more than roll around."

"Yes, ma'am." His gaze locked with hers and then he frowned. The teasing flirtiness of the moment passed. His eyes grew serious, darkening to the deep umber hue of concern as he studied her face, seeing something he didn't like. Placing his palms on her shoulders, he smoothed them down her arms and took hold of her hands. "Are you okay?"

Nodding, she offered him a reassuring smile and gave his hands a gentle squeeze. "I'm fine now, but" —she jutted her grin toward the grill— "if you burn my dinner, all bets are off."

Logan didn't seem convinced, raising a skeptical eyebrow, but he remained silent. Letting go of her, he turned to the food and flipped the lamb kabobs. She used the moment of distraction to head inside.

Wyatt was sitting with her eyes open, but she was still and quiet, lost in the transition between sleep and wakefulness. This drowsy state was ideal cuddling time. Veronica picked her up and sat in the corner of the couch, holding her close and kissing the top of her head. Wyatt snuggled into her chest with a sigh. It wouldn't take long for her to shrug off the remains of sleep and start itching to get down —there were worlds to explore and messes to make— so Veronica soaked up the moment.

She gently combed her fingers through Wyatt's hair. There was nothing troubling her; Logan was wrong. Well, maybe not entirely wrong. The man was too perceptive when it came to her moods. Calling her out on stuff she wasn't prepared to talk about or was actively trying to avoid. Like now.

Wyatt lifted her head, leaning back to see Veronica. "No nap," she said, lips puffing out in a pout, as if the cuddling and the hair stroking were evil tricks designed to put her to sleep. She wriggled off Veronica's lap and slid from the sofa. Confused, she turned in a slow circle, pausing to stare at the television. "Where Nemo?"

Not wanting any more TV time tonight, Veronica chose to misconstrue the question. "Home with his daddy; remember Dory helped him?"

She hesitated, first giving Veronica the suspicious head tilt with narrowed eyes, and then nodding. "Dory help."

"Now why don't you help me pick up your crackers?"

"Okay." Squatting, she started to eat the ones that had fallen on the floor, making them swim into her mouth and crunching them between her teeth. "Bye-bye, Nemo." Logan was right - that did seem wrong.

Veronica swept the remaining goldfish from the sofa into her palm and carried them into the kitchen. Forgetting about cracker cleanup, Wyatt trailed after her, doing a spot-on-perfect imitation of the Tasmanian Devil, whirling and spinning - a toddler tornado. With a sudden stop, she looked at Veronica, and asked, "Milk?"

"Blue cup or green cup?" They were identical except for the color, but if Veronica chose wrong, there could be a meltdown.

"No. Me do." Flinging open the doors to the tupperware cabinet, she disappeared inside. Out flew bowls, lids, a sandwich keeper, and a large pitcher. She crawled from the cabinet with a spaghetti keeper, thrusting it at Veronica.

"This is for… "  _Pick your battles_. "...a lot of milk; you must be thirsty." She poured a cup of milk into the keeper —barely filling the bottom— and snapped on the red lid before handing it to Wyatt.

She fitted her mouth around the dispensing hole in the lid and upended the container, sending milk down her chin and cheeks, across her shirt, and all over the floor. Unfazed, she said, "Mmm," and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Logan's arrival in the kitchen coincided with the doorbell. His gaze moved from Wyatt to the milk puddle to the containers on the floor and he smiled, remaining as unruffled as their daughter. Setting the platter of lamb on the counter, he asked, "Your choice, the milk or what's behind door number one?"

"Definitely the door." Veronica left him to do damage control.

A check of the security camera told her Tomás wasn't alone; he'd brought his cousin with him. She opened the door and nodded toward Weevil. "Is this your idea of backup? Because I can take him with a head tilt and hair flip."

Tomás grinned, dimples creasing his round cheeks. "Can't everybody?"

Weevil tried to hide his smile by leaning in for a hug. "You're not as cute as you think you are."

"Sure I am, just ask Logan." She stepped back, allowing them room to enter. Tomás walked in first, carrying a slim, black leather briefcase. "I have to say I'm a little disappointed." Veronica closed the door behind Weevil. "I expected a metal case handcuffed to your wrist and maybe—"

"A big sign that says rob me?" Weevil asked, shaking his head. "You watch too many movies."

"Wait, are you telling me James Bond isn't real?"

When they reached the kitchen, Wyatt was in her booster, and Logan was trying to feed her carrot soup. Head bowed over the bowl, she was scowling at its contents. "No like." She flashed him a hopeful smile and asked, "Pita?"

"No pizza."

Her scowl returned, magnified tenfold, and Weevil chuckled. "Now I see the resemblance to her mother."

Logan looked at him. "Uncanny isn't it?" He substituted the carrot soup with her plate of lamb and a small bowl of yogurt dipping sauce. It wasn't pizza, but the sauce provided the opportunity to make a mess, which was on her list of favorite things. Wyatt dunked her entire hand in the sauce and shoved her fingers in her mouth. Logan smirked. "And she has the same table manners as Uncle Eli."

"At least I've  _got_  manners, white boy."

"That just cost you your dinner invitation," Logan said, rising to shake Tomás' hand. "You of course are more than welcome to join us. Weevil can stand in the corner and watch us eat."

"Isn't that your regular spot?" Weevil bumped Logan's shoulder. "In the corner with a dunce cap?"

Tomás ignored their familiar antics and placed the black attache on the counter. His expression sober. "Thanks, but I need to get home."

"His wife keeps him on the same short leash Veronica makes you wear." Weevil put his hand close to his neck and yanked, miming the pull of a choke collar.

"I don't  _make_  him wear it - he likes it." Veronica smiled. "Don'tcha honey?" Logan flashed her a wicked grin and bobbed his eyebrows, eliciting a disgusted gagging noise from Weevil. The sound made Wyatt giggle.

Tomás shook his head. Opening the briefcase, he withdrew a thick zippered bag and some papers. He set the bag alongside the case, handing the papers to Logan with a pen. While Logan read, Tomás looked around the room. "Where's Bailey?"

"Napping." Veronica took plates down from the cabinet. "Are you sure you don't want some lamb? Or something to drink?"

"No thanks, I'm fine." Tomás ran a finger around his collar, pulling it away from his neck, and then smoothed his hand down the front of his tie. "And how's your dad?" He blinked. The same Maybelline lashes as his cousin, fluttering against his cheeks.

Frowning, Veronica hugged the plates to her chest. "He's good."

Nodding, Tomás asked, "And Mac? Wallace? How are they?"

Logan paused mid-signature, pen still pressed to the paper, and looked up, gaze moving from Tomás to Weevil and then to Veronica.  _What gives?_  She shrugged in response to his silent question.

Tomás shifted his weight and covered the security pouch with his hand. Of course, the money.

Veronica relaxed, putting the plates on the table. "You can stop running through the names of everyone we know. It's not a ransom demand; they're all fine and Bailey really  _is_  napping."

"Blackmail?" Weevil asked and Tomás shot him a  _be quiet_  look.

"Ah, the truth will out, you're here because you're  _worried_  about us," Logan said, returning the signed papers to Tomás in exchange for the pouch. "Would you believe Veronica needs new shoes?"

Weevil smirked. "I might believe it was for your hair product."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, green is an ugly color on you, Mr. Clean." Logan's  _tsk-ing_  had Wyatt wagging her sauce covered finger at Uncle Eli, and both men laughed.

Veronica slipped in between them, plucking the security bag from Logan's fingers. "It's for a case I'm working." Balancing the blue nylon bag in her palm, she judged its weight-a little heavier than a liter of soda. She tried to unzip the bag, but the tab wouldn't budge. Logan reached over, flipping a small metal plate to reveal a keyhole. Veronica held out an open hand. "Key please."

"After dinner."

Her answering scowl caused more laughter from Weevil. "You're right, the resemblance  _is_  uncanny."

Tomás snapped his briefcase closed. To further set his mind at ease, Logan re-assured him that once the case was over, he'd be redepositing the money. "As soon as Veronica's done with it, I'll bring it to your office." They shook hands again, Logan thanking him for coming, and they started walking toward the front door.

Weevil hung back. "This case- you need any help?"

She was about to turn him down, then changed her mind. There was still the decoy house to furnish and… "Can you get me a car from your Uncle Angel?" She wasn't overly worried about taking the BMW to Shenanigans for her audition—its ownership was well-hidden thanks to Logan's paranoia—but Amber needed her own wheels. Plus the car would strengthen her cover story.

Nodding, Weevil asked, "When do you need it by?"

Veronica crossed the room, pulled a legal pad from the drawer by the phone. "Tomorrow?" She knew it was a long shot, but she wanted the car in place before she officially started work at the club. "It needs to be registered to Amber Sharp at this address." She scrawled the information for the decoy house on the top sheet, ripped it off, and passed it to him.

"No promises, but I'll see what I can do." He read the information, folded the paper and slipped it in his pocket. "Anything else?"

"Furniture. Can you make a trip to a thrift store to get some things for that house?" She waved toward the pocket where he'd put the address. "A twin bed and bedspread, an area rug, throw pillows-"

"You want me to...  _decorate_? " His mouth twisted into a grimace. "I look like Martha Stewart to you?"

"The resemblance is uncanny," she said, turning his earlier words against him. "Don't worry, I'll text you a list of stuff to get."

Resigned to doing her bidding, he sighed, turning to leave, and Veronica took her place at the table.

Wyatt was almost out of dipping sauce—wearing most of it on her face and shirt—and was starting to grow restless in her booster seat. Veronica poured more yogurt dressing in the bowl, and eyed the five paperback books sitting on the hutch - her cocaine stand-ins.

"Oh, and one more thing." Her words stopped Weevil at the door. "Can you ask around about an Ethan Callahan? Small time drug dealer. Local, I think. Find out who his friends are, see if he's flashing around large sums of cash?"

"I'd rather play Better Homes and Gardens." He shook his head. "First hot cars and now drug dealers… can't you just stay home and bake?"

"Bate?" Wyatt perked up. "Cookies?"

"Yeah, exactly kid. Your mommy should stay home and bake cookies." Wyatt nodded in agreement and Weevil smiled. "But since that ain't gonna happen" —he refocused on Veronica— "will you at least be careful?"

"Always am."


	17. The Lost Art Of Keeping A Secret

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Veronica spread the bundles of cash on the table. Ten in total. Each stack contained one hundred brand-new $100 bills and was bound with a mustard currency strap that read 'ten thousand dollars.' She picked up a bundle and fanned the bills.

Last night, Logan had tried to make her wait until after dinner for the key, but he'd quickly given up when she'd left the kitchen, only to return with her lock-picking set. He'd retrieved the key from their safe and watched her as she'd played with the money —stacking, bending, and folding it— until it was time for him to leave for Shenanigans. Then Veronica had been too busy with baths and bedtimes to consider the pile of cash.

It didn't take up much space. She stacked the bundles on top of each other, creating a brick of cash approximately eight inches high. With older bills —ones that had been in circulation— the pile would be taller, but still manageable. If you weren't naked.

She rolled one of the bundles, nose crinkling in distaste when she considered the places you could hide it in the human body. Condoms and lube might have been two of the 'props' Pam made sure were in the room. But really, how could you not notice someone lubing Trojans stuffed with coke and cash? No one could ever be  _that_  distracted.

Veronica looked at the clock. It was time to leave. Returning the money to the security pouch, she locked it, and stored it in the freezer, giving a new meaning to the phrase  _cold hard cash_. "Ready for our educational trip to the lab, Rabbit?"

Bailey kicked her feet, gurgling,  _ah, ah, ah_ , which Veronica took as a yes. Whenever they could, Veronica and Logan would swap girls on Saturday mornings for alone time. It was only for an hour or two and then they'd meet for lunch. Today was his turn with Wyatt. They'd taken a cab to the USS Midway so Wyatt could see the "big boat" and Veronica was going to meet them at the Corvette Diner later.

It gave her just enough time to swing by Wallace's apartment, collect the DNA samples, and go visit Gil's friend, Oscar. She double-checked the diaper bag for the essentials and put a gray-and-white striped cardigan on the baby. Slinging both messenger and diaper bags over her shoulder, she picked up the car seat and carried Bailey outside.

With a longing look at the BMW, Veronica unlocked the mom van and snapped the car seat into its base. She pulled the sun shade down. "Now no one will see you riding in this embarrassing car- you're welcome."

The baby smiled her thanks and Veronica popped a binky in her mouth. "Feel free to fall asleep; we can bond later while you're eating."

She started the car and used the hands-free to call Wallace. When he answered, she asked, "Whatcha doin'?"

"Getting ready to leave. We have an exhibition game versus Scripps Ranch this afternoon." Bailey shouted something unintelligible from the backseat and Wallace chuckled. "Sounds like she's almost ready to join Pep Squad."

"Not bloody likely." The idea of either of her daughters at Neptune High, never mind as part of the Pep Squad, was the stuff of nightmares. "Can you do me a favor?" Without waiting for an answer, she pressed on. "Can you pack the lunch bags and dry ice from your freezer in the diaper bag I left there?"

"What do you want me to do with it?"

"Bring it downstairs to me in say… ten minutes? I'm on my way now, but it's a pain in the" —she glanced at the baby in the rearview and changed her sentence— "It's difficult to keep taking her in and out of the car." It wasn't so much lugging her and her stuff, it was the crying that ensued when the engine stopped.

"Why can't all your favors be this simple?"

"Because then you'd lose interest and chase after some other detective, begging to do them favors." She took the entrance to the freeway. "I need to keep you on your toes."

"Begging?"

"Sure, that's the word you'd choose to focus on," she grumbled. "Hey, if you want a more complicated favor, you can babysit the girls tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow's Sunday - isn't that family fun day?" His voice was muffled and there was rustling over the line. Veronica assumed he was doing as she asked and transferring the paper bags.

"It is, but Logan and I are planning to have our own fun after dark."

"Why must you say things like that to me? It's bad enough having to  _watch_  the two of you together; I don't need to hear details."

Smiling, she slowed for the Carmel Valley exit and said, "Best friends share, Wallace. Case in point, who had to listen to you gush about your date with Laura last week?"

"Lara," he corrected. The  _ding_  of the elevator doors sounded behind him. "And all I said was, we went to Kokoro for dinner and saw the new George Clooney movie."

"Well, it  _felt_  like gushing." Veronica made a left on Camino. "I'm not far; I'll see you in a few." She hit the end call button and navigated the side streets to his apartment complex.

When she pulled up to the building, Wallace was leaning against the orange retaining wall waiting for her. Dressed in green sweats and a Neptune Pirates hoodie, the clashing pink-and-brown diaper bag was on the sidewalk between his feet. Veronica rolled down the passenger side window. "So was that a yes on the babysitting?"

Wallace pushed the bag through the window, setting it on the seat. "What time?"

"Seven. They will be fed, bathed, and ready for bed. There's no guarantee that they'll be well behaved because they  _are_  Logan's children."

"Yeah, 'cause he's the only bad influence in your house."

Veronica grinned. "Absolutely."

With a shake of his head, he stepped back from the curb. "Remember, denial isn't just a river."

She scrunched her nose at him, closing the window on his words. Then she reversed its direction, lowering it an inch to call, "Good luck with your game - go Pirates!" He waved, turned, and jogged up the stairs to his building.

"Now that's two men and one little girl I owe cookies." Veronica made a U-turn and retraced her path back to the freeway. Jake had agreed to babysit tonight in exchange for caramel squares, Wallace would want snickerdoodles, and Wyatt was a classic chocolate chip girl. "Not a good influence? Huh, I'm practically Donna Reed."

Bailey blew a raspberry from the backseat.

"No comments from the peanut gallery."

Turning on her signal, she changed lanes, and merged onto the 805 south. She'd googled the address this morning while Logan was in the shower and found that Oscar Jiménez worked for the San Diego County crime lab. It shouldn't have surprised her —after all, she  _was_  being sent here by an FBI agent— but getting caught running personal DNA tests in a government lab would definitely be grounds for dismissal. Oscar must have owed Gil a  _huge_  favor.

Exit 21 for Balboa Avenue loomed ahead. She got over to her right, staying in that lane to take the west ramp. The lab was only fifteen minutes from the diner, so if traffic held and everything went okay with Oscar, she would get there before Logan and be able to nurse Bailey in the parking lot. Her eyes moved to the rearview mirror. Provided the baby was awake.

There was no signage. The address in large orange print was the only indication that she was in the right place. She slowed the car. It was a sprawling warren of buildings with no discernable front door. The closest thing to an entrance was a steel gray door just beyond the employee parking lot. 'Violators will be towed' warnings and the 'no trespassing by order of the sheriff' sign had her admitting defeat.

Explaining to Logan how and why she was arrested at the crime lab while carrying DNA samples in baby bottles did not sound like a fun way to pass the day.

She called Oscar, introduced herself, and told him she was outside. He agreed to meet her. While waiting for him, she checked the samples and marked each one: child, mother sample #1, mother sample #2, and finally, potential father.

Second, third,  _fourth_  thoughts assailed her. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. What she should do was thank Oscar, tell him she'd changed her mind, and go meet her husband for lunch. Instead, Veronica got out of the car, grabbed the diaper bag, and released Bailey's carrier from its base. She was squirming in her seat; the lack of motion disturbing her sleep. Veronica started to swing the carrier —a pendulum marking time to the point of no return— and put the pacifier back in Bailey's mouth.

"Ms. Mars?" Oscar Jiménez was tall, angular, almost gaunt, and he had the pale complexion of someone who spent a lot of time indoors.

As he drew closer, she switched the baby carrier to her left hand, and outstretched her right to shake. "Veronica, please."

"Oscar." No,  _it's a pleasure_  or  _nice meeting you_ , but it was probably neither; he was about to do something that could cost him his job. Letting go of her hand, he shoved both of his in the pockets of his lab coat. "Gil tells me you need a" —he checked over his shoulder— "paternity test? Are those the samples?" His chin jutted toward the bag.

_So we're doing this out on the street like a drug deal?_  Veronica nodded. "They're sealed in sterile containers and labeled."

"Is it for this little one here? Because I can just swab her cheek and yours." He withdrew paper wrapped cotton swabs, a pair of rubber gloves, two collapsed boxes, and two evidence bags from his pocket. A shy smile. "I like to be prepared."

Veronica smiled in return. "Me too." She slipped the bag from her shoulder and handed it to him. "Her paternity isn't in question, but you should take a sample from me." Oscar frowned at the suggestion and she elaborated. "To eliminate my DNA from the testing."

"Oh, I see." Clearly, he didn't or he didn't want to, because his features were still contorted in a mask of confusion, interspersed with embarrassment and maybe a little pity. After setting the diaper bag on the ground, he pulled on the rubber gloves, opened a swab, and swiped the inside of her cheek. Then he slid the stick into a narrow box, sealed it, and dropped the entire thing in an evidence bag. "I'll call Gil when I have the results."

"Thank you."

With a nod, he picked up her samples, and scurried back across the street. Veronica watched him cross the lot and disappear through the gray door.

It was done.

She looked at a sleeping Bailey. Tiny hands curled in fists resting on her chest and her chubby cheeks puffing in and out as the pacifier bobbled in her mouth. The paternity test wasn't just to satisfy Veronica's curiosity. Wyatt and Bailey deserved to know if they had a brother, Tyler was entitled to a father, and Logan had a right to his son.  _You're justifying, Veronica_. Sighing, she snapped Bailey into the car seat.

The drive to the diner was filled with self-reproach and roadwork. The latter turning a fifteen-minute trip into thirty, and the former making it seem endless. Veronica gave up on the idea of nursing in the parking lot: they were late, the baby was asleep, and she was too tense. Of course, the second they walked inside, the music, arcade noises, and buzz of conversation woke Bailey who immediately added to the cacophony with a high-pitched wail.

Veronica bounced the carrier, scanning the restaurant for Logan and Wyatt. Skirting the Corvette, she moved through the dining room. Logan spotted them first —correction,  _heard_  Bailey, who was having a full-blown crying fit— and stood to help. They were sitting in a side booth under the statue of Nipper, the dog from the RCA logo, and Wyatt was wearing a hat made from drinking straws, munching on a carrot stick.

"See, loudest animal on earth," Logan said, taking the baby from the carrier. The pacifier she'd  _just_ had in the car was nowhere in sight. Veronica dug through the side pocket of the diaper bag for the emergency spare, handed it to him, and he plugged the pouty caterwauling mouth. "Ahh, quiet."

"Not for long." She eyed the baby, who was sucking on the binky as if she hadn't eaten in days, and asked a passing waitress for a cup of hot water. Veronica slid onto the bench next to Wyatt and touched one of the straws poking from her head. "That's some bad hat, Harry."

Wyatt angled her head to stare at Veronica with  _that look_  and then held out a carrot. It could've been an attempt to share, but Veronica questioned her motives, thinking this was Wyatt's version of a pacifier for mommy. "No thank you, sweet pea." She kissed her fingers. "Did you have fun on the Midway?"

A big nod made all the straws jiggle. "Daddy's boat."

"Honey" —Veronica arched a brow at Logan— "Did you buy an aircraft carrier without me knowing?"

"The distinction between  _working_  on a ship like this and  _owning_  this exact ship was clearly lost on a two-and-a-half year old." Tucking Bailey's head beneath his chin, he rubbed her back and bounced on the booth seat. "She told everyone we met that it was mine."

"Daddy's boat," Wyatt repeated, confirming her belief on the matter.

The waitress arrived with the cup of hot water and menus. Thanking her, Veronica tested the temperature with her finger and put a bag of breast milk in the cup to warm. "You didn't order?" she asked, opening her menu.

Logan shook his head. "I only got the carrots because someone was getting cranky." He smirked. "She has as much patience as you do."

"Hey, I resemble that remark." She toed his shin. "I'm going to have the Breakfast at Tiffany's and a Cha Cha Chocolate shake."

With a droll tone, he prompted, "And?"

Veronica peered over her still open menu. "Fine, you got me- I also want the fried pickles, onion rings, and the Twist n' Shout taters." A smug smile crossed his face. With one more glance at the appetizers, she put the menu down. "You know, breastfeeding moms should eat like five hundred extra calories a day."

"So… exactly how many babies are you feeding?"

Unscrewing the nipple on the baby bottle, she filled the Mimijumi, and gave him a disapproving glare. "You're not funny."

"Sure I am, it's one of my many great qualities." The urge to roll her eyes was strong, but she resisted.

Wyatt was growing restless, twisting in her seat to stare at the other diners and eyeballing the waitresses, waiting for them to sing. Veronica stood. "Switch children with me."

He complied with her request, passing Bailey to her and moving to the other side of the booth, but he made Wyatt take the outside seat. It was like musical chairs. Next they'd be changing tables à la  _I Love Lucy_.

Veronica nestled Bailey in the crook of her arm and tugged the binky free. Open-mouthed, Bailey immediately turned her head and started rooting for the breast. "Arrgh, it's the bottle for you, matey," Veronica crooned, wedging the Mimijumi between her lips.

"Pirate-speak? Are you feeling nostalgic?"

"No. And for the record, Neptune High does _not_  inspire sentimental feelings of longing and affection."

They announced the Corvette Diner dancers and Wyatt disappeared from her seat, popping out from beneath the table in time to shake her tail feather.  _Twist it! Shake it, shake it, shake it, baby_. Veronica stopped talking to watch Wyatt as she twisted her arms behind her back to wiggle her fingers like feathers and shake her butt.

Veronica glanced at Logan in the same moment he looked across the table at her. Their eyes met and he smiled.  _Can you believe we made this tiny, amazing person?_

Breaking the contact, she bowed her head to stare at Bailey. Not just one little person, but two. They were the result of a hard-won relationship. Their existence had created a bond between her and Logan that could never be duplicated with another person. The shared experience of sleepless nights, and milk tornadoes, and finger-painted walls deepened and strengthened their marriage. Watching him care for their daughters, putting his own needs last and never acting like it was a sacrifice, only a privilege, made Veronica love him in ways that were inexplicable.

She gnawed her bottom lip.  _Logan, I did something and you're not going to be happy, but…_  The confession was right there, rolling around her mouth and leaving a bitter taste on her tongue.

A waitress appeared beside Logan, ready to take their order. She smiled at Wyatt, who was still dancing tableside even though the show was over, and said, "She's adorable." Veronica listened with half an ear as Logan repeated the long list of food she wanted, tacking on a cheeseburger for himself, chicken fingers for Wyatt, and a milkshake for them to share.

Now wasn't the time to talk about DNA tests, but she would. She made the silent promise and vowed to keep it. There would be no looking at the results until she told Logan what she'd done, and more importantly,  _why_  she'd needed them. He would understand.

Wyatt climbed back into her seat. "Me eat?"

"Food's on its way, Jellybean." Before the pout could even form and the complaining start, Logan exercised his mind-reading ability to distract, grabbing his cell from the table. "Want to see video of you dancing?" Without waiting for an answer —which was bound to be yes— he played the recording.

"Me!" Wyatt took the phone from his hand and started talking. It was rapid-fire with few discernable words, but her features were animated and happy so Veronica was sure it was a very entertaining conversation she was having with herself.

"Jake said he'd babysit tonight, and I hoodwinked Wallace into watching them tomorrow. Now it's your turn."

Logan had agreed to ask Dottie about switching hours, but he was doubtful. Overnight babysitting four nights a week for the foreseeable future meant she'd want to talk to Keith before saying yes. And while Dottie might be satisfied with the  _'I'm helping Veronica on a case'_  explanation, Keith wouldn't.

"You should just ask your dad and Dottie to move in with us for a while." It was the same suggestion he'd made last night, but now he added, "They volunteered to do it when you were investigating Mac's accident; I'm sure they won't say no."

It was a nonstarter, but she threw it out there anyway. "We could hire a nanny?"

The return of the waitress with their milkshakes and appetizers prevented him from answering, but Veronica knew it was going to be a resounding no. Being raised by various nannies had left Logan with a distaste for them. It wasn't the idea of child care in general —some parents had to work— it was more about his nannies turning a blind eye to Logan's abuse in exchange for money and nice things.

When the waitress departed, Logan asked, "Do you want me to take her so you can eat?"

Veronica shook her head. Content and fed, Bailey was just starting to doze; moving her too soon would have disastrous results. "I can eat one-handed."

The taters were curled around skewers and served upright in a cone-shaped wire basket. Logan pulled one from its holder, slid the potato off the stick, and ripped it into dippable pieces for Wyatt. Chewing the tip of her finger, she watched him with a frown. When he was done, she ignored the plate and took her own skewer, attempting to eat the potato right from the stick.

"You'll shoot your eye out, kid," he muttered, but instead of taking it away from her, he stretched his arm along the booth behind her. Enveloping her little hands inside his much larger ones, he turned the skewer on its side and helped her hold it like an ear of corn. Wyatt beamed at him and he kissed her nose.

The tender display did funny things to Veronica's heart. "Okay, no nanny; I'll call my dad." She ate one of the torn pieces of potato.

Keith didn't have to know the specifics of the undercover assignment, and he'd be thrilled that she was taking backup with her in the form of Logan. Plus she could get his forensic accountant working on Sam's shell companies,  _and_  she could find out if he still had any friends left at the building department. It would be nice to take a peek at the construction blueprints from the remodel of Shenanigans, and learn about their zoning variance.

Veronica dragged an onion ring through the tangy dip, took a bite, and thoughtfully chewed. "Pam said they stationed bouncers outside the doors to the private rooms and at the base of each staircase; where did she put you last night?"

If he was upstairs, he'd be able to sneak a peek in the VIP room, maybe take a few photos, but it also meant she wouldn't be able to see him. Veronica frowned at the onion ring in her hand. She'd given him a hard time about his bouncer plan and she regretted it now. His presence was the only thing that had gotten her through her audition. She didn't know if she could pull this off —stripping in a room full of men— without having him near.

A runner brought the rest of their food- moving things around the table to make room for the three baskets and refilling water glasses. When he'd departed, Logan asked, "Are you trying to squeeze the truth from that onion? Make it confess to its crime against healthy eating?" While he talked, he added carrots to Wyatt's plate of chicken fingers and gave her a few of his fries, making sure none of the food touched.

Veronica released her hold on the squashed onion ring, letting it fall to the plate, and wiped her fingers on a napkin. "I was thinking."

"You were glowering. So hard in fact, I thought you were going to hurt yourself." He cut Veronica's burger in half so it would be easier to eat with one hand. "Are you having second thoughts about tonight?"

"Chake?" Wyatt pointed to the metal sidecar.

Logan responded, "Eat some chicken first." At the same time Veronica said, "Have a piece of chicken first."

Wyatt picked up a tender. With a flourish, she waved it across the table to make sure they were both watching, and then took a big showy bite. She chewed and swallowed and asked, "Chake?"

Veronica bit back a smile, giving him a pointed look to say:  _see, that's all you_. With wide eyes, Logan put his hand to his chest, feigning innocence. Unwrapping a straw, he stuck it in the chocolate, peanut butter, and banana milkshake, and held the metal cup so Wyatt could take a sip. "Now have more chicken."

She wrapped her hands around the cup and took it away from him, putting it down on the other side of her plate out of his reach. Bending her arm into a chicken wing, Wyatt flapped her 'wing' and clucked at them before taking another bite of chicken and then a sip of milkshake. Flap, cluck, bite, sip. Flap, cluck, bite, sip.

Logan watched her play chicken, bobbing her head and pecking at the food. "Is cannibalism a normal stage of toddler development?"

Nodding, Veronica picked up her burger. "It comes right in between hating to share and learning how to make new friends… thereby solving one problem and creating another." She ate some of her burger and then asked, "Did you get to see the VIP rooms and offices?"

"I'm working the main floor —no upstairs— but according to a few of the other guys, the VIP area has been closed for the past week. Nobody in or out except Sam." His eyes fell to her mostly uneaten burger. "You know, if the drugs and cash were hidden in the party room, Sam's probably found them by now." Leaning over the table, Logan deftly lifted Bailey from her arms, and settled her in the baby carrier. She didn't even stir; the man definitely had magic hands. "Better?"

"Thanks." Veronica stretched her arm, wiggling her wrist and fingers until the numbness dissipated. With her hand free she was able to eat her fries along with her burger. "And the offices?"

"Sam and Joey share one; it's in the back corner of the house in what used to be the kitchen. And the only reason I know that is because Pam's teeny-tiny office next door was the former pantry."

Since tonight was her first night as an official employee, she would report to Pam's office to fill out paperwork and get her schedule. With the offices next door to each other, she would be able to 'mistakenly' go to the wrong one and with any luck find it empty. "Did you notice if there are security cameras in the offices?" None of the surveillance videos Pam brought home were labeled office, but that didn't mean they didn't exist.

The slight dip of his head and muffled sigh said he knew exactly what she was planning. "Pam has one —she pointed it out to me— but I think Joey's office is clear." He put more fries on Wyatt's plate. She was done playing chicken. Kneeling on the seat, she was drinking her milkshake and staring at the twin little girls in the booth across from them. "Sizing up her next meal," Logan whispered under his breath.

Veronica grinned. Finishing the fried pickles, she picked up her burger with one hand and a fry with the other. "You know, I'm going to need to get upstairs." She waved the french fry at him. "Do you get a shift in the security room?" According to Pam's drawing, it was in the front of the mansion, tucked into a corner. Veronica assumed they had monitors to watch the live feed.

A negative shake of his head. "The senior bouncers take turns and one, or both, of Sam's men, are usually in there with them."

It was a problem, but not an insurmountable one. She had a few ideas that would get her upstairs. None of which Logan would like, so it was best to keep them to herself.

Logan bit the end of the fry she was still waving around and said, "Last night the one they call Mickey —Michael Barnes— was in the security room when I checked it out."

Winner, winner. Now she had a last name for Sam's other henchman. "You're not too shabby with this intel gathering stuff," she said, picking up her phone to text the information to Mac. "I'm glad I decided to let you help me." At the patently untrue statement, his mouth dropped open, and she batted her eyes at him.

A waiter carrying a platter of cotton candy stacked a foot high walked toward them. Wyatt's eyes grew huge, staring at the pink confection. The waiter put the platter on the table with the twins. Wyatt's head whipped around to look at Logan —she clearly knew who was the easier mark— and asked, "Me eat?"

"See now is she talking about the two little girls or the cotton candy?" His gaze roamed over the room in search of their waitress. Spotting her by the DJ booth, he motioned her over and asked for an order of cotton candy along with the check. "It's on its way, Jellybean."

Bouncing in her seat, she clapped her hands together, rubbing them in anticipation. Logan chuckled at the enthusiasm and Veronica shook her head. "That's not very nice- getting her all hyped up on sugar and unleashing her on an unsuspecting Jake."

"I'm actually doing him a favor." He smiled, a diabolical glint in his eyes. "When he has to call his mother for help, maybe she'll leave him alone and stop asking for grandchildren."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's what you're doing- being helpful."

"It totally is." The large plate of cotton candy adorned with colored sprinkles was set down in front of Wyatt. Using both hands, she ripped off pieces and pushed them into her mouth. Logan's smile widened. "You know what I'm thinking? Since you want to do a little snooping before your shift, we should probably make Jake come earlier."


	18. The Real Thing

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Jake showed up early enough to have dinner with them. To compensate for their fried lunch Logan had made a super-healthy stir fry with as many vegetables as Wyatt would eat, and he'd served it over brown rice. Jake was happy with the selection, Veronica not so much, but she'd eaten enough to set an example for Wyatt, and then she'd snuck off with another cannoli to get ready.

It didn't take her long. Hair, makeup, and costume would all be done in the dressing room at the club. She double-checked her duffel bag. Last night while Logan was at work, she'd packed it with everything from bottled water and snacks to a sewing kit and crazy glue. This was going to be her first meeting with the other dancers, and she didn't want to blow her cover with something as simple as a poorly-stocked bag.

Donning jeans and a cold-shoulder flutter top in a deep shade of purple, she completed the outfit with purple, ankle-wrapped platform heels and went to check on the progress of the bath and bedtime routine.

A naked Wyatt was standing in front of her closet, chewing on her finger, and staring at the rod of clothes. Logan was sitting on her bed holding a pair of rainbow socks and a red boa; he looked up as Veronica walked into the room. An appreciative smile spread across his face at the sight of her. It never mattered what she wore —dressed up or down, in pajamas with no makeup, wearing ratty sweatpants to clean house— Logan always seemed to find her hot.

"Could you at least TRY to look less sexy?"

"Well, that would be counterproductive," Veronica said, leaning in to kiss him. She nodded toward their daughter. "Wyatt takes longer to get ready than you do." Straightening, she crossed to the closet. "Want some help?" Usually the question was enough to prompt her into making a choice, probably because she didn't want Veronica to pick for her.

"No." Wyatt pulled a white cotton slip from the hanger and tugged it over her head, backwards. Leaning forward to see her outfit, she smoothed her hands down the dress, and declared herself, "Pretty."

"It seems someone is getting all dolled up for Uncle Jake." Logan frowned and Veronica touched the crease in his forehead as the doorbell rang. "Don't worry, you're still her favorite. I'll go let Pam in so you can finish pajama time." She showered Wyatt's face with night-night kisses. "You might want to try reading her a story while she puts on her socks, if you L-E-A-V-E without it there'll be a M-E-L-T-D-O-W-N."

"One story? You're very optimistic tonight."

"That's me - optimistic Veronica Mars." Picking up her duffel, she left the room, and headed for the front hall.

They couldn't arrive at Shenanigans together and, of course, Logan insisted that he get there before her. He'd arranged another ride with Pam. Not strictly necessary since Weevil had come through with a car for Amber—an older model Audi convertible in black—but Logan thought carpooling with Pam was good for his cover. It certainly couldn't hurt. Anything other than Veronica's mood, that is.

Pam and Jake were standing together in the foyer, completely at ease with each other. And why wouldn't they be? They weren't exactly strangers. Smiling, Pam lightly stroked her fingertips across Bailey's forehead. She was nestled in the crook of Jake's arm drinking her bottle. "You look good with a baby in your arms."

"Don't say that around my mother," Jake warned, leaning forward to kiss Pam's cheek. "She has enough ideas on her own; she doesn't need any help."

"Hey," Veronica interrupted their reunion. "Logan will be out in a minute." She dropped her duffel on the hall tree. "He's just getting Wyatt ready for bed."

"That's good, because this one" —Jake bowed his head to stare at Bailey— "doesn't look like she's going to sleep anytime soon." The baby returned his stare, wide-eyed and alert, and sucked at her bottle to noisy effect.

"To be clear, I said getting her  _ready_  for bed, I didn't say anything about  _sleep_." Veronica smiled to cushion the blow. "But if you get desperate, you can let her watch a movie." Wyatt had already reached her allowed television time for the week, but these were special circumstances. They didn't need Jake running for cover from an attack of the terrible twos.

They migrated toward the living room to wait for Logan. Veronica had gone over all the kid instructions with Jake —emergency numbers, approved snacks, the need for Cuddles— and she'd explained Bailey's feeding schedule and shown him how to make and warm a bottle. But this was an all-night gig, and he'd never watched them before.

"We should be home by four-thirty" —Veronica looked to Pam for confirmation and she nodded— "But if you need anything, you can call Logan or your mother." Veronica snagged her bottom lip between her teeth. "If Wyatt says she's hungry, she could just be angling for a cookie; don't give her any. If she's really hungry she'll eat a banana or hummus and whole wheat crackers. You need to leave the nightlight on in the bathroom and—"

"Uh-oh, someone's in mommy mode," Logan said, strolling into the living room. Draping his arm around her shoulder, he kissed her temple, and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "You already told him all this during dinner" —smirking, he wiggled two fingers in the air— "Twice." Her sharp side-eye made him wince. "Ouch, sorry, by all means, please continue."

Instead, she asked, "Is Wyatt actually in bed?"

Logan bent his head in Jake's direction. "He wishes. She's adding a tutu to her ensemble and picking a book for  _Unca Jay_  to read." Dropping his arm, he turned to Pam. "Ready?"

"Just waiting on you."

Tucking a strand of hair behind Veronica's ear, he kissed her goodbye and then glanced at Jake. "Seriously though, if you have any problems, call me."

"Problems with these cute little peanuts? I don't think so."

Logan shook his head. "Size is deceptive, man. They take after their mother- tiny, but formidable." As he said it, he side-stepped away from Veronica and kept moving toward the front door. "Good luck."

Pam fell into step behind him, waving her goodbye and telling Jake, "I'll see you soon." She caught up to Logan in the foyer, whispering something that made him laugh, and then they were gone.

Veronica stared at the empty space a beat longer than necessary before returning her attention to Jake and the baby. "Do you need anything before I leave?"

"No, ma'am; we're good. Right, Bailey?" Jake wiggled the baby's foot and she kicked her legs, whether in agreement or protest, Veronica couldn't be sure.

Leaning forward, she kissed the baby's head and tickled under her chin. "Go easy on him, kid, or we might not see him again." Bailey grinned, her smile identical to the one both Wyatt  _and_  Logan wore when they were up to mischief. Veronica tickled her again. "You're too little to be thinking such devious thoughts." The baby gurgled.

Wyatt's bellow of "Unca Jay, 'tory time" reverberated down the hallway, setting Jake in motion. With a salute to Veronica, he scuttled from the room.

Enough time had elapsed for her to be able to leave. Shifting her weight, she rubbed her palms across her thighs, and looked around the room. There was nothing for her to do. She squared her shoulders, got her bag, and left the house. Tossing the duffel in the trunk, Veronica slid into the driver's seat, and started the car, pausing for a moment before putting it in gear. She rolled her neck, shook out her hands and then shifted into reverse, backing from the driveway.

The 'case' part of tonight was simple. Snooping through Joey and Sam's shared office in search of evidence and information; questioning the dancers; getting a feel for the inner workings of the club; and, meeting Sam for the first time were all things that gave her the familiar  _rush._  Digging for clues and putting the pieces together was challenging and, let's face it,  _fun_.

It was the 'undercover' part giving her qualms. A one-off stint as Amber, a few hours playing gamer girl, or acting as the blonde bait in a honey trap were easy. But actually  _living_  a role for days, or possibly  _weeks,_  was new. Listening to Logan and Jake talk over dinner, using their secret Navy language —voluntold, BZ, mid-rats, rack— reminded Veronica that there was a  _lingo_  involved with any profession. It wasn't enough for her to land this job, she needed to sustain the illusion of experienced dancer.

And then there was the stripping itself.

Arriving at Shenanigans, she buzzed the call box, identified herself as Amber, and waited for the gate to open. As a newly minted member of the staff, she assumed Pam would give her the gate pass during tonight's meeting, but until then… She tapped the steering wheel, impatient, while the fence slowly swung inward.

The valet wasn't as unctuous this time around, refusing to park her car and dismissing her with a wave toward the side of the building. He barked,"Employees park around back," and walked past the Audi to attend to the next vehicle in the queue - a black Ferrari, slowly pulling up behind her. There was  _definitely_  some sort of communication between security and the valet station. Mister Snotty must have a wireless earpiece.

Veronica did as instructed, pulling ahead and driving around the building. Technically, the lot wasn't in "back." The mansion was situated sideways on the promontory, affording both its front and rear faces expansive ocean views. The prime spaces were clearly marked with 'valet only' signs. She bypassed them, winding her way closer to the tip of the peninsula until she found the employee section. It looked like the same place the dealers had parked the night of the party.

If employees needed to park in the back, did it also mean they had to use the beach stairs? Could getting up to the VIP rooms really be that easy? She retrieved her duffel, locked the car, and headed in that direction.

"Amber?" The unexpected and unfamiliar male voice behind her put Veronica on attack. Dropping the duffel, her fist curled around her keys. Their jagged edges poking through her fingers, as she whirled around to confront the… mountain.

The man was enormous. Tall, like Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson, tall and maybe twice his size. Her little car key clutched in her tiny hand suddenly felt ridiculous, but she held her ground. Show no fear. "Yeah?"

"You're going the wrong way." He stepped aside, revealing the hazy outline of a door. Painted the same color as the surrounding alabaster walls, it was barely noticeable and easy to miss with The Hulk standing in front of it. "I'm Bart."

"Amber." Grabbing her bag, she started for the door and stopped. "But you knew that already- how?"

Bart tapped his ear, confirming her suspicions. "Security told me to watch for you." He moved back to his post, disappearing into the shadows; his black clothes becoming one with the darkness.

_Creepy_  didn't begin to cover this place.

Veronica pulled open the door, breathing a sigh of relief when no one was waiting on the other side. If they were going to monitor her progress through the entire place, she'd never be able to duck into Joey's office.

The hallway was bright and open-ended. She waited, letting her eyes adjust and orienting herself based on Pam's drawing. This corner of the club housed the dressing room, offices, and restrooms. There were three doors to her right and two on her left. Veronica took a few steps; the music getting louder as she walked.

All three doors on the right were marked —dressing room, ladies and mens— that meant the two on her left were the offices. Neither of them was labeled. She needed to make the right choice. If she went into Pam's office first, the security camera would pick her up, and she'd be stuck.

It was a no-brainer. The far door abutted the main floor and the music —not exactly a quiet space to think evil thoughts and plan heinous crimes— and it was across from the restrooms. Veronica knocked on the one closer to the exit. Even with its proximity to the employee entrance and parking lot, both Joey and Sam would like the 'prestige' denoted by having a corner office.

There was no answer to her knock. Turning the knob, she pushed open the door, and slipped into the office. The unsecured door didn't bode well for her search. If there was anything of value, she imagined it would be kept under lock and key, but she might gain some insight into Joey's relationship with Sam.

Designed to impress, the wall opposite the door was floor-to-ceiling glass. All the furniture —desk, chairs, and credenza— was arranged on one side of the room so as not to distract from the ocean vista. Crossing the polished hardwood and Persian rug, she started with the desk. It was perpendicular to the windows with an Eames leather chair tucked into its kneehole and its surface was completely empty.

Pens and blank legal pads were in the center drawer. She felt along the bottom; nothing was taped to its underside. The right-hand drawers were filled with more office supplies: staples, paper clips, rubber bands.

Her search of the top left-hand drawer yielded a page-a-day calendar. She flipped through it, looking for clues. On the last page were a group of numbers - maybe a password or a bank account. She used her cell to take a picture and returned the calendar.

The next drawer contained files. She thumbed through the tabs, reading the labels —Crest Beverage, Vend POS, SD Stage and Lighting, Beckers Catering— these were the club's vendors. She lifted the folder for the catering company. Stamped 'paid' in bright red ink, the invoice for the party was right on top.

She was only half-kidding when she'd asked Logan if they'd served Big Mouth Joe's at the party. Back in the day, Sean Friedrich had counted on Neptune's garbage pickup to steal the poker money. What if her thief had used the catering company to smuggle out his ill-gotten gains? One of those pan carriers Dick owned would easily fit both the coke and cash.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall. For her to hear them over the music meant they were close. Veronica dropped the catering file back in the drawer, pocketing the invoice, and folded her arms over her chest. Closing the drawer with her knee, she leaned on the desk and stared through the window, pretending to admire the view.

"What are you doing in here?"

Acting startled, Veronica spun around to face him. "I was just waiting for Pam. You told me to meet with her before I started my shift."

"Her office is next door." Joey's bulky frame blocked the only exit, trapping her in the room. He made himself comfortable, leaning against the jamb to watch her.

Veronica didn't relish the idea of having to squeeze past him; she didn't want to get that close. Glancing around the room for a distraction, she zeroed in on the painting across from the desk. "That's beautiful," she said, gesturing toward the canvas with the hope of shifting Joey's focus from her chest to the artwork. No such luck.

"You're beautiful." Sleaze oozed from the compliment.

Ignoring it and him, she took a step closer to the wood-paneled wall. The painting was big. Big enough to be hiding a safe. Maybe the numbers from the calendar were a combination? She tilted her head to study the sides for hinges. The carved filigree frame was aged to a warm patina, giving it the appearance of an old master, but she needed to get closer.

She looked at the actual picture of two men playing cards at a wood table. There was  _no way_  this was an original Cézanne, but it was a good reproduction. Very good. Reaching for the frame, she asked, "Post-impressionism?"

Joey didn't want to talk art. "We're having a party next week."

Veronica's hand froze, mid-air, and then fell to her side. Her gaze flicked to Joey. He'd moved into the office, but his hand was on the door and it was starting to close. Not good.

"It's a small party- just my partner, me, and one of our associates." He leered at her. "You'd be a nice fit."

A sharp rap on the wall made them both turn their heads. Palms flat on the doorposts, Logan balanced his weight on his hands and leaned his torso into the office; his eyes searching for and finding Joey. "Sorry to interrupt, but Pam's looking for the new girl." He didn't even glance her way. "She sent me to find her."

"We're right in the middle of—"

Veronica didn't wait for Joey to finish. "Guess it's time for me to skedaddle." Clutching her bag tight to her chest, she ducked under Logan's arm and hustled down the hall to Pam's office, relieved.

Pam was sitting at her desk, tapping a dry-erase marker against her bottom lip, and studying the whiteboard on the wall. At the sound of the door, she turned to face Veronica. "Hey, I was just adding you to the schedule. Want to fill out some paperwork while I finish?"

A lone folding chair was wedged between the desk and a vertical filing cabinet. Veronica dropped into the chair, banging her knee on one of the putty-colored drawers.

"I think I'm going to keep you off the main stage tonight," Pam said, passing Veronica a clipboard.

"Was it my complete lack of grace while attempting to sit?" She rubbed her knee, glancing at the top sheet. It was the expected employment verification form. "Afraid I'll face-plant in front of your best-paying customers?"

"You'll do great," Pam replied, absently, as she wrote Amber's name on the schedule in several places. When she finally stopped writing and looked up, a line appeared between her brows. "Are you okay?"

The question snapped Veronica into action and she started filling out the forms. "So where  _am_  I working?"

"I've got you doing two sets on each of the smaller stages." Using the marker, she pointed as she talked. The board was divided into four columns —one for each stage— and there were times running down the left side. Amber's name was in  _a lot_  of little boxes.

It was a giant adult word problem: if strip club A has four stages, and each dancer does a set that is seven minutes long, how many strippers do you need to keep the horny men entertained for seven hours?

"In between sets, you work the floor doing lap dances. They're twenty bucks each."

"That's kinda cheap, isn't it?" Logan paid forty for her lap dance the other night.

With a dismissive wave, she said, "Industry standard, but the clients tip better here." Better maybe, but Veronica would bet not as good as Logan's one-hundred percent. Pam continued, "If the guy wants a private dance, it's four hundred dollars for an hour. They'll pay the bartender first and then you take him into one of the back rooms." Her face twisted. "Some of them have weird requests - they want to smell your g-string, or play with your feet, or spank you."

Not happening. There would be no private dances and back rooms for her. Veronica's expression must have said as much because Pam moved on. "Are you done with those?" She gestured toward the clipboard and Veronica passed it over the desk.

The forms weren't complete, but she'd made a good show of it for the security cameras. It didn't matter; Pam was going to 'lose' the paperwork some time during her shift.

Pam flipped through the half-done forms, squeezed the top clip and removed a 3x5 sticker, which she handed back to Veronica. Simple white text on a black reflective background read: Shenanigans, Employee Parking. There was a barcode and string of numbers between the words. Veronica tucked it in her duffel bag.

"Ready to meet the other dancers?" Pam asked, standing.

Nodding, Veronica stood too and Pam came out from behind the desk, carrying the whiteboard. With the addition of her and the board on this side of the desk, the room went from small to claustrophobic, but Veronica put out a hand to stop her from opening the door. "Is there an empty locker and dressing area for me? One that wasn't Karen's?"

It was a psychological thing. Pam setting her up at Karen's station would send the message that Veronica was her replacement. If any of the girls were friends with Karen, it could create resentment and hostility-two things she didn't need while getting naked in front of strangers.

"They aren't really stations —you'll see when we get in there— but I'll give you a new locker and I'll try to put you next to Bridget; she's chatty."

Chatty was good. Veronica followed her from the office and across the hall.

If she needed another reminder that the strippers were merchandise and not people, the dressing room was it. The floor was covered in the same non-skid vinyl you'd find behind the deli counter at Ralphs.

Women in varying stages of dress were sitting on folding chairs in front of a chipped formica countertop that ran the length of the room. It was littered with everything from hairspray and makeup to take-out containers and a scented candle, which released the cloying scent of gardenias.

"—bouncer?" The naked brunette finished her question in time with the application of her lipstick. Leaning over the counter to get closer to the wall of mirrors, she smacked her lips together.

Next to her, a stunning blonde decked out in a silver metallic micro-mini skirt, put her foot on the counter and started rolling up a thigh-high black lace stocking. "I'd like to break me off a piece of that."

"Pam would kick your ass." This from Reina who was standing across the room in front of the dingy gray lockers.

Shrugging, the blonde adjusted the keyhole neckline of her silver halter top and said, "Might be worth it." She caught Pam's reflection in the mirror. There was no embarrassment at having been caught talking about Pam's new man. Instead she said, "You don't mind sharing, right?"

Instant dislike. Veronica slowly unfurled her fingers, relaxing her fisted hand and forcing a smile. She wanted to tell her she wasn't Logan's type —right after she ripped out her hair extensions— but it wouldn't be true. Everything about her, from the blonde hair to the perfect ass and the shapely legs, screamed Logan.

"Three's a crowd," Pam responded, turning away to hang the schedule on the nail by the door. "This is Amber, she's starting tonight." Done putting up the whiteboard, Pam moved closer to micro-mini skirt. "Amber this is Silver."

_At least she's trite_. "Nice to meet you."

Silver tossed her fake hair back with a jerk of her head, raising her chin. "Hey."

Pam waved toward the naked brunette who was applying Vaseline to her cheekbones. "And this is—"

"Sin," the woman supplied her name, patting iridescent glitter over the petroleum jelly.

"Sin? As in, S.I.N?"

"Because I'm tempting." Her reflection smiled at Veronica; a cute dimple appearing above the beauty mark on her chin. "C.Y.N, short for Cynthia, but no one calls me that, except my mother." An exasperated eye roll accompanied the word 'mother'.

Pam was on the move. "You already met Reina at your audition." Veronica exchanged hello nods with her. "And this is Bridget- you can use the locker next to hers." Leaving her there, Pam continued down the line of lockers to one on the end. As she walked, she pointed to a few of the other girls —Lady D, Aurora, Chloe— and finally, the two dancers Veronica cared about meeting, Lacey Moskvin and Siobhan Byrne.

They were sitting together, facing each other, knees touching, as Siobhan painted an intricate design on Lacey's temple. A lace pattern that matched the stretch bralette and ruffle skirt she was wearing.  _So much for originality_. Siobhan mumbled a greeting while Lacey remained silent and still so as to not mess up her makeup job.

"Are you dancing tonight?" Reina asked Pam the question over Veronica's head.

With a sly smile, Siobhan answered for her. "Of course she's dancing; she wants to keep her man this time around- remind Logan what he's been missing." A few of the girls laughed, but Reina gave her an icy look of warning. Unfazed, Siobhan sang a line from Pam's performance song — _I want to fuck you like an animal_ — while misting Lacey's face with Urban Decay makeup-setting spray.

Veronica gritted her teeth, taking her duffel back to the mirrors. Emptying the stuff she'd need onto the counter next to Cyn, she shoved her bag beneath the counter, took a seat and whispered, "Does she not like Pam?"

"Who? Siobhan?" Cyn doused her spiral curls with hairspray. "She's harmless."

"She's a bitch," Bridget corrected, taking the seat on the other side of Veronica.  _If you don't have anything nice to say, come sit next to me._  Veronica arched a brow at her, encouraging her to continue, but it wasn't needed, Bridget was just getting started. "She thinks she's all that." As she gossiped, she worked mousse through her black hair. "And the minute she started fucking Dom she became unbearable." Bridget hit her hair with the blow dryer, separated it into sections, and started teasing the back. "Don't you need to be getting ready, hon?"

Right. Veronica plugged in her curling iron and started applying foundation primer. "Unbearable how?" She prompted, trying to get the conversation back on track.

"Demanding the best shifts, only working the main stage, hogging all the whales." She shrugged. "A complete diva." Something caught her attention and she paused mid-tease. "You're going to blow Logan's mind in that outfit."

Veronica glanced down at her shirt and then frowned, belatedly remembering that here in the club Logan was  _Pam's_  not hers. She turned around. Pam was clad in black leather. The bikini top, exposing ample cleavage, was held together with strings that tied behind her neck. Cheeky-cut boyshorts had triangle-shaped cutouts on her hip bones and gartini leg wraps crisscrossed their way down her long legs, ending in a pair of fuck-me pumps.

Of its own volition, Veronica's thumb moved to her ring finger. Her  _bare_  ring finger. Dragging her eyes away from Pam, she looked at her hand. Engagement ring and wedding band were in the valet tray on their dresser at home, along with Logan's watch and spare change.

Picking up her foundation, she vigorously dabbed it on her cheeks with a soft buffer. It was only Logan's second night working at the club and already the idea of him as Pam's boyfriend was firmly entrenched in everyone's mind. Her gaze slipped to Pam, who had taken a seat at the end of the counter to touch up her face.

Veronica had left her rings at home and assumed an alias in order to sell her role as Amber-the-stripper. What was Logan doing to sell  _his_  cover? Were they holding hands and constantly  _touching_  each other? Having quiet tête-à-têtes in Pam's office? Had Pam come right out and _told_  the girls she was dating Logan?

In the mirror, Pam gave her a supportive thumbs-up and a smile.

With a mental shake, Veronica tossed off the petty thoughts. Pam was on her side. Telling the dancers Logan was taken put him off-limits to the predatory few, like Silver. And, even if Pam harbored secret feelings, cheating took two, and Veronica's faith in Logan was absolute.


	19. Murder By Numbers

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Veronica jerked awake. Tiny squawks from the bassinet pulling her from an already fitful sleep. She turned her head to stare over the side of the co-sleeper. Bailey was squirming and sucking her fist, the squawks getting louder. Hunger cues. "Okay, little eating machine, I hear you."

Bringing the baby closer, Veronica settled her on her side, tucking her close and helping her latch. Bailey's jaw worked furiously while her hand pushed and kneaded at Veronica's breast. "Hungry much?" She rubbed the baby's back, kissing the top of her head. "You're going to wake Daddy with all that grunting and swallowing."

"Daddy's already awake." There was no grogginess; his voice was clear.

"Did you get any sleep at all?"

"No," was Logan's terse reply.

Frowning, she lifted Bailey —who bleated in protest at the loss of her food source— and rolled over to face him. He was lying on his back, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. She readjusted Bailey, putting a pillow alongside her body for support.

She'd gotten home from the club —a glance at the clock on his nightstand made her groan— less than three hours ago. Bart-the-mountain had walked her to her car right at the end of her shift, but Logan had to wait around for Pam. "What time did you get in?"

"Five." He shifted his head on the pillow to watch Bailey eat. A fleeting smile crossed his lips and then disappeared into a thin, hard line and he resumed his study of the ceiling. "Did you find anything in Joey's office?"

Veronica told him about the numbers in the calendar and shared her caterer theory. "I didn't get to search the cabinets though. Tonight, I'll go back—"

"No." He ground the word through a clenched jaw. "I'll search your credenza, and you'll stay away from Joey." The veins in his neck bulged, temper barely contained.

Last night, Joey wasn't out on the floor much; he'd stayed sequestered in his office, doing whatever it is he did behind closed doors. He'd been front-and-center for Veronica's first set, though. But after that, she'd seen him maybe once or twice, schmoozing with the well-heeled customers, and having a glass of champagne toward the end of the evening. He'd done nothing to precipitate this reaction from Logan, except… "What happened after you rescued me from his office?"

The corner of his mouth quirked upward in the familiar  _my-wife-knows-me-too-well_  smirk and then the grim expression reappeared. "Just stay away from him, okay?"

Curiosity ate at her. Veronica could really relate to that stupid cat. Obviously, Logan hadn't unleashed his fury on Joey, or he would've been fired, but she was sure he'd  _wanted_  to and she wanted to know the reason.  _Dammit_. Testing the waters, she said, "That's gonna be kind of hard—"

"Veronica," he snapped, causing Bailey to startle. Veronica stroked her head, planting little kisses in her hair, soothing her until she relaxed and went back to devouring her breakfast. Logan was contrite. Now on his side, he leaned forward to kiss Bailey's arm, and gently touched Veronica's cheek. "He said some things."

"So I gathered- feel like sharing?"

Logan shook his head. "I'm not repeating them" —his fingers flexed— "But I am going to make him eat them when we're done with this case."

From the look on Logan's face, those words were going to be served to Joey with a side dish of his own teeth. "He's not worth losing sleep over."

" _You're_  who I'm losing sleep over." His fingers traced the bones of her face. "You know, if you started practicing law, you might be able to keep me in the style to which I'm accustomed. I hear you'd earn a lot of money."

"Not as much as strippers, according to Cliff."

"That's not funny," he said, flatly, flopping back onto the mattress. "Why couldn't I be in love with a librarian or a teacher?"

"Wallace is still single; I could set that up for you."

With a flap of his hand, he pooh-poohed her suggestion. "Wouldn't work, he thinks I'm too high maintenance."

Veronica widened her eyes and asked, faux-shocked, "You? High maintenance?" A sad shake of her head. "I can't even imagine where he came up with that idea."

"You are SO lucky you're feeding our daughter right now or I would demonstrate which one of us requires the most" —a suggestive eyebrow bob— " _Maintenance_."

"Still you." Veronica glanced at Bailey who unfortunately was wide-awake.  _You're cramping my sex life, kid_. "We have about an hour until Wyatt wakes up - wanna snuggle?"

"If by snuggle you mean sleep, sure." Belying his words, he joined her on her side of the mattress. Bailey squirmed, stretching out her arms, and making tiny sounds of displeasure at having to be moved again, but she quickly settled when given back her food.

Logan spooned them both, careful to not interrupt Bay's eating, and kissed Veronica's shoulder before tucking her head beneath his chin.

Closing her eyes, Veronica sighed. "Think if we pretended to be sleeping, Jake would take care of Wyatt's breakfast?"

"What pretend? Once Bailey's done eating, we're going to wheel the bassinet into the hall and lock the door."

"So... you want to treat our daughter like a room service cart?"

"Mmm-hmm," he purred into her ear. "It will be just like our suite at the Grand. I'll hang a do-not-disturb sign on the door and you'll get naked."

Smiling, Veronica snuggled closer. "That doesn't sound like it will lead to sleep."

"It will." His hand slid over her hip as he kissed her neck. "Eventually."

She indulged in the fantasy for a few minutes and then said, "You know Wyatt's never going to let that happen, right? It's Sunday." Stretching out her legs, she yawned, and returned a now-sated Bailey to the co-sleeper. "But maybe we can do family day in shifts- you take the first one and I'll see you in eight… nine hours."

"I'll flip you for it." Lifting her from the mattress, he flipped her onto her stomach. "Tails- I win."

She flopped back over. "You wish."

"Fervently," he agreed, lowering his mouth to kiss her. Hands in her hair, head cradled in his palms, and hips rocking into hers. It was some kiss. And altogether way too convincing. She was definitely coming around to his 'locked door' plan. Veronica wrapped her legs around his waist, increasing the contact, and he smirked. "I knew you'd see things my way."

Grabbing his hair, Veronica dragged him back for another kiss. "We have to stop because if we don't" —she smoothed her hands over his shoulders and down his arms— "Wyatt will wake up and interrupt us and then we'll be both, tired  _and_  frustrated."

He pressed his forehead to hers. "Too late."

"We could leave early tonight; rendezvous at the Holiday Inn before work?"

"You're on." Logan kissed her nose. "And for the record, I love when you proposition me."

She arched her hips, rubbing against him. "I can tell."

"Minx." His mouth moved down her neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses, while his hand slid up her inner thigh. "You know, two can play this game."

"What game?" Veronica batted her eyes. "I'm just being super-affectionate to my—"

His fingers slipped beneath her bikini briefs. "You were saying?"

Banging on their door stilled his hand just when it was getting interesting. With a smirk, Veronica gave him an  _I-told-you-so_  look, and they rolled apart.

"M'up!" Wyatt announced, turning the knob, and then flinging the door wide. Racing directly to Logan's side of the bed, she tossed Cuddles onto the mattress, and scrambled up to join her bunny. She climbed over Logan and settled in the middle of the bed. Her head twisted from side-to-side, staring first at Logan and then Veronica. "Hug."

Knowing what she wanted, Logan scooched closer and wrapped his arms around Veronica, cocooning Wyatt in between them. She nestled in with a soft sigh, put Cuddles in a headlock, and popped her thumb in her mouth, eyelids drifting closed.

Logan arched a questioning brow and Veronica shrugged, saying, "Don't fight it, just enjoy."

Taking her own advice, she shut her eyes, and when she finally pried them open again, she was alone. She blinked. "Logan?"

Dusky light bled through the drawn curtains and the clock was facing the wall. He'd turned on the fan for ambient noise, and compensated for the chill by covering her with an extra blanket. Veronica smiled, savoring the pampered feeling for a little while, before crawling out of bed. Pulling on a pair of leggings, she went to relieve Logan from kid duty.

He was lying on the sofa with Bailey on his chest.

Across from him, Jake was lounging in a chair with his legs stretched out on the coffee table, feet crossed at the ankles. He scratched his head and yawned. "She was up for each of Bailey's feedings and I mean  _up_ , like wide awake with enough energy to power a nuclear sub."

That explained Wyatt's willingness to go back to sleep with them this morning. Frowning, Veronica looked around the spotless room for the overactive toddler. "Where  _is_  Wyatt?"

"In the box," Logan responded, pointing to a large cardboard box, which had formerly held a dishwasher and  _used_  to be waiting in the garage for recycling day.

Frown deepening, Veronica crossed the room and peered inside. Logan had dressed Wyatt in a bathing suit and sat her in the center with her finger paints. Chatting to herself, she was happily painting all four sides —and her skin— with splashes of color. A self-contained artist studio.

"I needed to keep her occupied while I cleaned up the debris from the great toy tornado."

"You just got extra lucky tonight," Veronica said, leaning over the arm of the couch to kiss him. "And if there's bacon in that kitchen, you won't even have to flip me for it."

"There's bacon." His smile was slow and indecent. "Along with waffles and ice cream."

She fanned herself.

"You two make this parenting thing look easy," Jake said, picking up his coffee from the side table and taking a sip. Veronica only stared at him, mouth agape, and Logan laughed. Jake's brow furrowed. "I'm serious; that one" —he jabbed his thumb toward the box— "swindled me out of four bedtime stories, declared she wasn't sleepy, and came out here to play." He pointed at Bailey. "And this one cried each time I tried to feed her. But look at them now, content and happy and  _quiet_."

"Maybe you should tell him about the hair gel incident, or the sandbox caper, while I eat breakfast and call my dad." Veronica headed for the kitchen, stopping in the doorway to add, "Or you could explain why we even needed a new dishwasher."

With a smirk, Logan shook his head. "Dude, this is so far from easy, you have no idea." He curled his hand around Bailey's head, stroking his thumb across her cheek; his expression grew tender. "But it's totally worth it."

Veronica rested her head on the door jamb to watch him with the baby. Lucky didn't begin to cover what he was getting tonight. Letting her sleep, making her favorite breakfast, and now this moment. Irresistible. Raising his head, Logan caught her spying on him and winked. She executed a slow turn, adding a little extra sway to her hips, and blew a kiss over her shoulder on her way to the kitchen.

She glanced at the clock. Not exactly breakfast, it was closer to brunch, but whatever.

The bacon and waffles —chocolate chip waffles— were in the warming tray. Veronica tested one of the chips to make sure they were real chocolate and not those carob things Logan insisted on buying. Satisfied, she topped it with the vanilla ice cream, and sat at the counter to eat. Food first, then Dad- she'd need sustenance for the upcoming guilt-trip and possible lecture.

The call could technically wait. Wallace was watching the girls tonight, and the club was closed on Mondays. If she waited till the last minute, she could buy herself another two explanation-free days, but she really wanted a peek at the construction blueprints for Shenanigans. She also needed to get the forensic accountant working on Sam's shell companies. The sooner she gathered dirt on Sam, the sooner she could stop dancing.

There was a joke in there somewhere —resolving an issue with her dad in order to stop stripping— but she couldn't find the humor in it. Last night had been tough. Loretta was right, eye contact with the customers was a big no-no. The few times Veronica did, it was hard to say who was more discomfited- her, by seeing the lust in their eyes, or them, for realizing she was an actual person and not just a fantasy object.

Veronica picked up the phone and dialed her dad. "Keith Mars."

"Hey, Pops."

There was a long pause. "I'm sorry who is this?"

Veronica rolled her eyes. "Your daughter."

"Daughter you say? I used to have a daughter; she worked in my office, ate ice cream with me, and occasionally we'd go to the zoo together. Oh, and she didn't avoid me."

"Well that's simply not true." Balancing the receiver between her ear and shoulder, she rinsed her plate and stacked it in the dishwasher. "I avoided you plenty of times."

"Usually when you were up to something I wouldn't like."

She wasn't even going to address that-  _sorry, Bob Dylan, but the times they are NOT a changin'_. "I need a favor, three actually. Do you still know anyone at the Balboa County Building Department?"

"I might. What's in it for me?"

"My undying devotion and a 'world's greatest dad' mug?" Veronica wiped down the counters and put the frying pan in the sink to soak.

"That may have worked when you were five, kiddo, but these days I'm holding out for a better offer. There are only so many mugs one dad needs."

"But you're the one who keeps telling me I'll always be five to you. That means a handmade card and a hug should be enough." He chuckled and she leaned against the counter, twisting the phone cord through her fingers. "What about some uninterrupted, quality time with your granddaughters?"

"You've piqued my interest."

"I'm handling a case for an old friend of Logan's." She paused, waiting to see if he would fill the void with information. Dottie didn't gossip, but she'd probably mentioned either Pam or Tyler to him in passing, and Veronica wanted to know what he knew. Silence hummed on the line. Tight-lipped as always, he volunteered nothing. On a sigh, she continued, "Pam got me a job at her club, which means I'm going to be working nights and need a babysitter."

"See, it sounds like you're sharing, but methinks there are holes in your story."

"Because you're suspicious by nature."  _Hello pot, this is the kettle_.

Keith  _humphed_ , asking, "And where's Logan going to be while you're working at this club?"

"With me, he's my backup." Telling him Logan would be with her was a gamble, but one she had to risk. Veronica pulled the cord, stretching out its curls until it was taut, and then let it go, watching it coil back into shape. On the one hand, Keith would be happy that she wasn't doing something dangerous alone, but on the other, he would realize it  _was_  dangerous if she was willfully bringing a partner.

"He's taking time off from his job?" It was 'Concerned Dad' voice, but with a hint of interrogation.

To stave off the question-and-answer session, she said, "We were hoping you and Dottie would stay here for a few days next week, say Tuesday through Saturday night? If I wrap up this case by then, I might even let you take me to the zoo on Sunday." The offer was a serious one. A family day at the zoo would be a wholesome and clean activity. The perfect antidote to a week spent at Shenanigans.

"I'll talk to Dottie. What was favor number three?"

"I just need you to give me the name and number of your forensic accountant." There was no way she'd have Keith pass the information along, because he wouldn't be able to resist snooping- direct access was key.

"Her name is Sharon Cates; I'll text you her phone number when we hang up."

"Look at you, sending a text- welcome to 1997."

"Didn't I teach you anything? You don't insult the mark until  _after_  you have the information you want."

"Eh," Veronica said, shrugging. "I know my audience." Crying from the living room put an abrupt end to their call. "Gotta go." Hanging up the phone, she went inside. Bailey was in her bouncer, screaming. "What happened?"

"She woke up when I put her down to get this one," Logan answered, lifting a paint-covered Wyatt out of the box. She was wriggling in his grasp, trying to free herself. "You have to wait until we get outside, Jellybean."

Wy was staring at the furniture with a gleam in her eyes, wearing that  _I'm-up-to-no-good_  smile. Veronica was sure she was contemplating redecorating the room in rainbow colors. "Where'd Jake go?" she asked over the wailing.

"The instant the crying started he was gone -  _poof_."

"Yeah, parenting is easy," Veronica mumbled, picking up the baby and placing her stomach-down across her forearm. Bouncing, she patted Bailey's back, making  _shushing_  sounds. The deafening bawl lowered an octave. "We're practically living the life of Riley here."

Smirking at her words, Logan fled to the yard, using his elbow to open the French doors while both managing to hold onto Wyatt and not get paint on the walls. Veronica followed him outside. The gentle breeze soothed Bailey into silence for a blink, but when the crying resumed it was even louder than before.

"Want to go in the water with your sister?" She crossed the yard to the pool. Logan had sat Wyatt on the steps in the shallow end. She was splashing herself, watching the water change colors as she rinsed off the paint. "You're going in too," Veronica informed Logan, nodding toward Bailey.

"Okay." Peeling off his t-shirt, he circled the pool and dived into the deep end. By the time he resurfaced, Veronica had stripped the baby down to her onesie, and she passed her to him. "Hey, Rabbit." He held her close to his chest, gently bobbing until the warm water calmed her.

Leaving them, Veronica went inside to get towels and put on a bathing suit —she'd need to take over pool time so Logan could sleep— and then stopped in the nursery for dry clothes and diapers. Swim, lunch, and nap, and then later Logan could join them for 'family cookout' in front of the fireplace.

As she reached the deck, the doorbell rang. Ignoring it was her first choice. Sunday was already off to a rough start and they'd be leaving the kids early tonight. It rang again. Logan was sitting on the steps of the pool; Wyatt was 'helping' him teach Rabbit to float. Another ring of the bell. This one longer and more persistent.

"Grr." She marched to the front of the house. The security monitor revealed the interloper as Pam. Veronica threw open the door. Not bothering with a greeting, Veronica said, "I need to get this stuff to Logan." Turning on her heel, she didn't wait to see if Pam was following, and started for the yard. "Lock that behind—"

"Karen's dead, Veronica."

Her steps faltered. "Wait, what?" She whirled around, stopping long enough to take in Pam's disheveled appearance. Red-rimmed, puffy eyes, bedhead, and still wearing pajama shorts and a tank top, Pam must've been sleeping when she got the news. "Karen's dead?"

"It happened last night; I don't know all the details, but… they killed her." Pam bit her bottom lip, hard. "Is it our fault? Did we lead them to her?"

Was she here to deliver the news, or on a search for absolution? Veronica couldn't change the former and she couldn't offer the latter. It was possible the killers had followed them to Karen's, but not likely; Veronica had been careful. They probably found Karen the exact same way Veronica did- by tracking down her mother. Criminals had technology, too.

"I thought you were getting towels," Logan said, walking into the house with Bailey in one arm and Wyatt in the other. All three dripping chlorine on the hardwood. "It's too cold for the ba—" He stopped talking when he spotted Pam. "What happened?"

With a  _not now_  shake of her head, Veronica took the baby and passed him the towels. "Pam's going to help me with Bay; will you get Wyatt's lunch? There's tortellini soup in the fridge."

"Me eat 'roni."

Veronica kissed her nose. "Yes,  _special_  macaroni stuffed with cheese." The cheese sold it; Wyatt nodded her head in agreement. "We won't be long," Veronica promised, gesturing for Pam to follow her.

Once they were in the nursery, Veronica closed the door, shut off the baby monitor, and said, "Tell me what you know."

"Not much." She hugged her body, staring through the window at the yard. "Reina called me. The police…" Taking a step forward, she stopped, turned and paced toward the crib. "The police went to Siobhan's looking for a next-of-kin. When they left, she called Reina, and—"

"Reina told you." Veronica finished changing Bailey's diaper and kissed her belly, tickling her sides. "Where was Karen's mother?"

The question interrupted Pam's stilted pacing. "I don't know." Her eyes widened. "Do you think they… they killed her too? The police didn't say that, at least I don't think they did, but it's possible, right?" She clutched her head. "Tyler can't stay with me; maybe I should leave Dick's."

"And go where?" Veronica dressed Bailey and picked her up, carrying her to the rocking chair. "We don't know anything yet. We don't even know if this is related to the club." It would be one hell of a coincidence if it wasn't, and Veronica didn't believe in those, but she needed to calm Pam down. "Why did the police go to Siobhan's?"

"That was the address on Karen's license; they were roommates until Karen went into hiding."

"Was Siobhan able to give them next-of-kin?"

Pam nodded. "The brother in Sacramento."

So he wasn't imaginary. Too bad Karen hadn't taken Pam's advice and gone to stay with him. Then again, an hour-and-a-half plane ride wasn't that far to travel if you wanted to collect two hundred grand.

Is that why they'd killed her? Did they identify her as the thief? If they hadn't recovered the missing cash and drugs, it wouldn't make sense for them to eliminate a potential source of information.

Unless it was a warning? Were they upping the stakes for the other dancers, trying to make them talk?

But why Karen? She was already a walking, talking warning. The bandaged face and bruises around her neck indicated their seriousness and their willingness to use violence. Of course, it would've been more effective if she was actually  _at_  the club and not hiding.

At the club.

"When last night was she killed?" Pam's expression was blank. "What  _time_?" Sam and his goons were conspicuously absent all night. Joey was there sporadically, but his office was right by the exit and he was drinking champagne at the end of shift- maybe in celebration?

"I don't know; why does it matter?"

Instead of answering, Veronica asked, "Do you still have the dancer's schedule? Your whiteboard? Or did you erase it?"

All four girls —Lacey, Siobhan, Reina, and Pam herself— were at Shenanigans and on the schedule, but if Joey could make the drive so could one of them. Chatty Bridget said Siobhan only worked the main stage. How much time was there between her sets?

Pam's eyes cleared. "You're thinking about alibis."

And interrogations. The police were going to want to talk to Karen's boss and co-workers. They would come to the club. They would also search the crime scene and dust for prints. If they hadn't found Veronica's bug by now, they would soon. Ditto for her fingerprints. Hers and Pam's.

_Shit_.

So much for too many exes; she was going to have to call Leo. The apartment was in his jurisdiction. He'd be able to tell her where the investigation was heading and she could make a preemptive disclosure about her visit to Karen. Plus he'd be able to fill in some details, such as how and when she'd died.

"Will you feed Bailey for me?" Veronica abandoned the rocking chair to return to the kitchen; Pam trailed after her.

If the police found out the bug was hers, they would make her turn over the recordings. They could also bring her up on eavesdropping charges. The penal code was very clear. If the D.A. was feeling generous, he could charge it as a misdemeanor —a fine and up to a year in county jail— but as a wobbler offense, he could decide to make it a felony.

_If_  they found out the bug was hers.

There was a gray area to the law. Veronica had planted the bug during a conversation  _she_  was a party to and she was trying to gather evidence about a violent crime. She was smack-dab in the middle of a moral dilemma. Keep silent about the bug or take the risk? What if the bug had recorded Karen's murder?

Logan was at the table with Wyatt. A smorgasbord of food in front of them. He'd fished the tortellini out of the soup and put them on a plate. There were cucumber slices with ranch dressing. Apple slices and chunks of cheddar cheese and, strangely, one lone slice of bacon, all on separate dishes. Either Wyatt was being picky or she was starving.

"You didn't tell me there were peas in the soup," he said as Veronica walked into the room. "It was a mutiny."

"No peas, Mama." Wyatt put tortellini on the cucumber, topped it with bacon, and dipped all three in the dressing, shoving the weird combo into her mouth. Why the food couldn't touch on the plate, but was okay when  _she_  mushed them together, was a toddler mystery Veronica would never solve.

She mouthed,  _sorry_ , and said— "Pam's going to feed Bay, and I can finish lunch if you want to N.A.P." —while transferring the baby to Pam.

His intense gaze studied Veronica's face. It was not the adoring,  _I-love-you_  look and it was definitely not the smoking hot,  _I-want-you-now_  stare. This was appraising- a little skeptical, plus a touch of worry, and a whole lot of  _you're up to something_. "I'll wait."

Which meant listening to the recording would have to wait. Logan would want to hear it too, and it was not something she could play on speaker in front of Wyatt, especially if it contained the confrontation with Karen and her subsequent murder.

Veronica averted her face, turning to finish warming Bailey's bottle. "I have to make a phone call." Keeping him in the dark was not her intent, but this was tricky. "To Leo," she added, testing the bottle and giving it to Pam. Leaning a hip on the counter, she met Logan's eyes. "Karen was M.U.R.D.E.R.E.D." Even though, Wyatt wouldn't know the word, it was harsh and ugly, and something Veronica never wanted her to understand.

His cheeks puffed and he exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. He glanced at Pam who had joined him at the table with the baby, his expression unreadable, and returned his focus to Veronica. "When?"

"Last night." She hesitated in the doorway. "I'm going to use the extension in my office, but" —she touched the wall phone— "if you want to join."

Rising from his chair, he touched the top of Wyatt's head, and crossed the room to the phone. "I'll give it a few minutes."

It was easier to have Logan listen in on the call now than have to repeat the entire conversation later. Plus there was only enough room in their marriage for one jealous person at a time and it was her turn. Full disclosure of her interactions with Leo would allow Veronica to continue her jealousy monopoly until Pam went away.

Settling in her office chair, she placed the call, and asked to speak with Leo. A soft click signaled Logan's presence on the line seconds before Leo mumbled, "Veronica Mars. I hope you're not going to ask for a favor, because I prefer when you do that in person; I'm usually rewarded with treats, both visual and culinary."

Was he actually  _flirting_  with her? Veronica shook her head. "That could be the start of a bad joke - a soccer mom, a toddler, and an infant walk into a police station."

"Right… how is Logan?" Mumble gone, his voice was now clear and professional.

Opting to keep Logan's presence on the line to herself, Veronica said, "He's good; I'll tell him you said hi." This was the time when social convention would dictate an exchange of pleasantries, but she eschewed them in favor of getting to the point. "A woman was killed last night, Karen Wittner, and it happened in your neck of the woods."

"And you're calling because you already know who the killer is?" Typing in the background meant he was pulling up the case.

"Not yet, but I'm working on it." It was time to offer up information. The question was how much? She couldn't lie to the police about an ongoing investigation. "She works,  _worked_ , for a gentleman's club called Shenanigans as a dancer. Recently, some money went missing from the club and one of the owners hired me to find out who took it."

"Was it our vic?"

"Not sure, maybe. It could've been another dancer, or one of the club's other owners." She gave him the rundown on the ownership of the club, providing names but leaving out the shell companies, and told him she was hired by Pam. "No one at the club knows I'm investigating the theft except my client."

"How much money are we talking about?"

"Two hundred grand."

He whistled at the sum. "That could motivate someone to kill."

Veronica skipped over the 'things people were motivated to do for money' conversation because it would lead places that might make Leo less willing to help her. "How was she? Killed, I mean."

"Two shots to the head. The autopsy hasn't been done." Police-speak for no official cause of death yet and no information on bullets or weapon. Or, more importantly, time of death.

"You have an  _unofficial_  T.O.D.?"

"First 911 call came in around two a.m. Neighbor reported hearing gunshots from the apartment next door."

That tracked. Apartment number three was on the same landing as Karen's mother and the walls were woefully thin. Two a.m. Traffic would be light at that time, even for California freeways. Someone could've made the drive from the club, killed Karen, and gotten back to Shenanigans well before closing. "What about Karen's mother? Where was she?"

"Sacramento, visiting her son."

So Karen hadn't taken the advice for herself, but she'd spirited her mother away for safety. "You're going to find my prints in the apartment; I was there on Wednesday and I doubt she cleaned after my visit."

"I'll let the detective in charge know. Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

Now was her opportunity to mention the bug, but she held back. "Have they searched the apartment? Found my missing money?"  _Or my listening device_.

"No on your money and yes, on the search, but someone beat them to it. The place was ransacked. They were thinking robbery- thief broke in expecting to find the place empty and got startled by Karen. They're waiting on the mother to inventory the apartment, tell them if anything's missing."

"Ransacked, huh? How could they tell? When I was there, the…" She'd thought Karen was only a slob. Clothes had been pulled from suitcases and tossed around the room. But maybe someone had searched through her things. That would be three separate visits to Karen. Once to rough her up and get answers, a second time to search what she'd brought with her into hiding, and a third to kill her.

Why? What had made them track her down? Instead of afraid, did her running make her look guilty to them? And if they found proof she was the thief during their search, why not kill her then? Why wait days and shoot her later? And if she wasn't the thief, what reason did they have to go back a third and final time?

Something had to have happened. A triggering event, or events, in between visits that focused their attention solely on Karen. Veronica just had to figure out what.


	20. Dressed Up To Undress

CHAPTER TWENTY

After she hung up with Leo, they sent Pam back to Dick's house, and both Karen's murder and the case were put on hold for family day.

Veronica entertained, making puppets from lunch bags, while Logan caught some sleep, and then they cooked fancy grilled-cheese sandwiches in the fireplace for dinner. Afterward, Wyatt made them read her favorite books, doing different voices and using the hand puppets.

"Your British accent is ruined for me now," Logan said, flopping down in the pile of sleeping bags and pillows. "Completely tainted by Peppa Pig."

"Good to know cartoon pigs are a hard limit," she said, dropping to her knees next to him. Tapping a finger against his lips, Logan's brow creased, and his head tilted in contemplation. Veronica hit his shoulder with a throw pillow. "I can't believe you're actually  _thinking_  about it."

Logan grabbed her hands, pulling her onto his chest. "You do look good in pink." He kissed her nose and slid his hand over her ass. "And I love your tail."

"Peppa!" Wyatt raced back into the room, clutching a DVD with the cute pink pig on the cover.

Groaning into his shoulder, Veronica muttered, "I thought you burned that?"

"You certainly didn't expect me to roast a whole hog by myself, did you?"

"Ugh, did you just make a DAD joke?" Pulling away from him, she sat up. "You're seriously in danger of losing all the sexy points you had stored up for tonight."

"I'm not worried." With a bob of his eyebrows, he walked his fingers up her inner thigh."I have ways of earning them back."

No doubt. He caressed her leg, thumb stroking between her thighs, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Veronica stopped his hand as it dipped beneath the hem of her shorts, removing it from her skin. The smug grin on Logan's face said,  _See? Not worried_.

She stood. "Daddy will watch Peppa Pig with you, sweet pea." In time with the words, Wyatt thrust the DVD at Logan's chest and his smile slipped. Veronica grinned.  _Payback's a bitch_. "I'm going to get ready before Wallace gets here."

"Fancy party, Daddy," Wyatt instructed as Logan opened the TV cabinet and inserted the DVD. It was an oft-watched episode of Peppa and her friends dressed in costumes.  _Everyone loves fancy dress parties_ \- except maybe Logan at this point. Veronica almost felt bad for him; not bad enough to stay and watch, though.

Escaping down the hall, she locked herself in their room. An hour —or two, depending on how fast they could get out of here— in a hotel room wasn't exactly date night, but she was going to treat it like one.

She showered, did her hair and makeup, and slipped into a slinky, black bodycon dress. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pulled on a pair of thigh-high, heeled boots. The outfit was new- hidden in the back of her closet, waiting for a night out with Logan. Standing, Veronica checked the mirror before leaving the room.

Logan was on the sofa. He turned his head as she entered the room. His eyes widened at the sight of her and his jaw slackened, mouth parting; the tip of his tongue darted across his bottom lip. Smiling at the desired reaction, Veronica slowed down, giving him more time to ogle. Logan twirled his wrist, indicating she should turn, and she obliged the silent request.

"Wow." His gaze was riveted to the few inches of bare skin between the hem of the mini-dress and the top of the boots. "Wally needs to get here like yesterday."

"Mama pretty." Wyatt was on her knees, peering over the back of the couch.

"Pretty...  _hot_ ," Logan murmured, getting up from the couch. With two long strides, he was in front of Veronica, taking her hands in his and pulling her close. Bending his head, he touched his lips to hers in a whisper-soft kiss.

A glance at the sofa confirmed Wyatt was no longer watching, her attention reclaimed by Peppa Pig. Freeing her hands, Veronica lifted her arms, and wound them around Logan's neck, holding him in place and deepening the kiss.

He cradled her hips between his palms, drawing her to him, and then slid his hands over her ass. They stilled and he yanked his mouth away. "You're not wearing…" He visibly swallowed. "Are you naked under this dress?"

"Completely."

A strangled groan in the back of his throat. "You're trying to kill me," he rasped into her ear.

"No, just trying to turn you on." She angled her head to see his face. "Is it working?"

"You have no idea how much." Kissing her again, he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth; his hands glided down her spine, palms smoothing the dress to her skin. With a soft growl, he pulled back. "To be continued," he whispered, kissing her nose.

Reluctantly, Veronica released her hold on his neck, running her hands over his chest. "I'll do pajama time."

"Okay," he agreed without letting her go, his hands still caressing the small of her back. He feathered kisses along her jawline and then down the side of her neck. Tilting her head, Veronica exposed her throat to him, granting him easier access. His lips grazed her collarbone. "On second thought, she can sleep in what she's wearing."

" _Mmm_." Veronica struggled to remember  _what_  Wyatt was wearing as Logan gently started to suck her neck. Green hospital scrubs. Wyatt had put them on to read,  _Elmo Goes to the Doctor_. They were perfectly acceptable bedtime attire.

The doorbell succeeded in breaking them apart; Veronica tripping over Logan's foot in her haste to answer. He grabbed her elbow, steadying her, and his smug smile reappeared.

"What? I don't want it to wake the baby."

"Liar."

Wyatt popped up from behind the sofa, standing on the cushions and jumping. "Unca Wall- _eee_!" Logan caught her mid-jump and flew her over the back of the couch so she could race to the door. She lunged at Wallace's legs.

Wallace scooped her up into a hug. "Who's ready for a game of _Sneaky, Snacky Squirrel_?"

"Me!" Wyatt pointed to her chest and started to squirm. "I go get." He put her down, but before she could run away, Logan lifted her for goodbye kisses. Wy squeezed his cheeks between her palms to deliver a loud lip-smacking kiss, then she turned to do the same to Veronica. "Night-night?"

Logan shook his head, putting her down. "Not yet, Jellybean; you can play your game with Uncle Wally." His gaze drifted to Veronica. "While I play with Mommy."

Wallace gagged, frowning in distaste. "You two need to be hosed down."

One eyebrow quirked as Logan leered at Veronica. "There's an idea."

A soft  _eww_  from Wallace as he walked past them into the house. "Just remember, when you have kid number three, I'm not babysitting anymore."

Logan said, "We'll miss you," at the same time Veronica firmly stated, "That's not happening."

The _'yeah, right'_  eye roll from Wallace was hard to miss. Veronica chose to believe his skepticism was about Logan missing him and not her assertion that they were having no more kids. "The guest room is all set up and you know where everything is," she said, picking up her duffel and purse from the hall-tree bench.

Logan took the bags from her. "And you can call me if you have any problems." He opened the front door, nudging Veronica through it. "But you won't. Have problems, that is." Stepping onto the porch after her, he blocked the entrance.

Veronica peered around his middle. "There's breast milk in the fridge, extra binkies on the table, and don't forget—"

"To set the alarm," Logan finished for her, shutting the door with a soft thud. "Now where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?" His free arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush to his chest. "Ah, I remember."

The heat of the kiss singed her lips, demanding and hungry as if he'd gone months without her. Eyes closing, she stroked her hands up his back, enjoying the feel of the hard planes and angles beneath her fingers.

Her duffel bag hit the porch with a  _thunk_  and he was lifting her, spinning her around so he could lean on the railing. It made her lightheaded. Or maybe that was the lack of oxygen. She didn't care. Her legs straddled his thigh and she sank her fingers in his hair. Veronica wanted contact. Skin-to-skin. And if they didn't stop soon, she was going to strip him down here in full view of the neighbors.

Reading her mind, Logan wrenched his mouth away, panting. "Hotel."

Veronica blinked. Brain fuzzy, it took her a minute to make the connection. Right. They were going to the Holiday Inn. She slid off his leg, returning her feet to the ground.

Logan smoothed his hands over her hips, fixing her dress, and then brushed his lips over hers, soft and tender. Tucking her hair behind her ear, he caressed her cheek with his knuckles. "Ready?"

Turning her face, she kissed his fingers, and nodded. Scouting the porch for her discarded purse, she bent over to pick it up, and Logan smacked her ass. She tossed a mock-frown over her shoulder and inclined her head toward the duffel. "Now it's your turn."

"Okay" —he shrugged— "But spanking doesn't do it for me, like it does for you." Bending at the waist, he grabbed her bag.

"Oh, I know. I just wanted you at the right viewing height." As she talked, her hands caressed her thighs, slowly sliding up her hem to offer him a peek under her dress. Growling, he dropped the bag and reached for her. She danced away from him and down the stairs, laughing. "What about that? Did that do it for you?"

Logan stalked after her. Tossing the bag in the backseat of the Audi, he opened the car door for her. "You're driving."

There was an evil glint in his eyes. Alarm and anticipation skittered down her spine. "Yes, sir." Veronica slid into the seat and he reached in to fasten her seatbelt, letting his fingers graze her breast.

Taking both her hands in his, he positioned them on the steering wheel at ten and two. "Don't let go of the wheel." He shut the door.

"If I don't let go, how will I ever start the car?" she simpered, batting her eyes at him.

A wolfish grin was his only reply. With her purse in hand, he circled the hood, and climbed into the passenger seat. He fished out the keys and leaned over her, one hand turning the key in the ignition and the other slipping between her thighs.

"Logan." The reprimand was too breathy to be effective. "What are you doing?"

"Hmm?" His hand moved higher, inching up the dress. "I believe it's called foreplay. I don't know why other men don't like it, because I'm having a grand old time." He scrunched lower in his seat to stare pointedly through the windshield. "Aren't you supposed to be driving somewhere?"

"I will, when you return to your side of the car."

"Veronica Mars, I'm disappointed; I thought you  _liked_  a challenge."

She shifted the car into reverse and touched her foot to the gas, squeezing her legs together to trap Logan's hand and stop the lazy, tantalizing stroke of his finger.

"There's my girl. Uh, you might want to take it slow, because I certainly plan to." Her breath caught and she jerked to a stop as he slid one long finger inside her. He crooked his finger, sweeping it back and forth in a come-hither gesture.

Veronica banged her head against the seat.

Chuckling, he eased his finger out, circled her clit, and withdrew his hand from her lap. He stuck his middle finger in his mouth and sucked. "I can't wait to bury my face between your legs and really taste you."

 _Fuck_. Throwing the car into drive, she slammed her foot on the gas. "You just stay over there for now," she warned.

"Sorry, can't hear you over all this wind." He waved his arm through the open roof of the convertible. Lowering his hand, he reached under her arm to cup her breast, brushing his thumb across her nipple. He twirled it between his fingers, using the material of the dress to create friction. When she moaned, his hand drifted to the other one, lavishing it with the same attention.

Logan took his hand away and covered hers, righting the steering wheel. "Watch the road, Veronica." She directed a quick glare at him and he clapped in glee. "Ooh, I've made her mad."

"And I know how much  _that_  turns you on," she ground out.

"Feisty Veronica is my favorite." He breathed the words against her ear and caught her earlobe between his teeth, giving it a gentle tug. His mouth moved down her neck, nibbling and sucking her skin.

The seat started to get warm. Her eyes flicked to the control button. Logan must've turned the seat warmer on when… She didn't know when. It was taking all her concentration to keep them on the road.

His hand was back on her thigh, drawing circles on her skin. He shoved her dress up past her hips, exposing her to the night air. The cool breeze competing with the hot seat made her shiver, but not as much as his whispered, "Spread your legs for me, Veronica."

She did as he asked, hips arching from the seat, and her foot pushing harder on the gas pedal. They were close. The hotel was just… he thrust two fingers deep inside and the car swerved, making his fingers jerk. "Easy," he cautioned, scissoring his fingers.

"Logan, I… you have to…  _ooh_." Where the hell was the hotel? Her eyes started to close and she forced them open. The blue uplights on the frontispiece of the Holiday Inn Express swam into focus. Jerking the wheel to the left, she slewed the car into the lot and jammed her foot on the brake, pushing his fingers deeper.

"Look, we're here." He slid out of her, retreating to his side of the car. "Should I check us in, or do you want to do it?"

Veronica clenched her teeth. "You can't just… we… I need…  _grrrr_."

"You're so sexy, all turned on and ready to come." He leaned back over the console to whisper in her ear. "Do you want to touch yourself? Get yourself off?" Veronica nodded. "Well, don't. Keep your hands on the wheel and wait for me." He brushed the hair out of her eyes and kissed her cheek. "For this, I'll be quick, I promise."

Hopping out of the car, he disappeared into the hotel.

Clamping her knees together, she gripped the steering wheel tighter. She hadn't even considered touching herself until he suggested it. Now that's all she wanted to do. Slip her hand beneath her dress and relieve the pressure, the dull throbbing between her legs. Deserted, dark parking lot? Not a problem. She wanted to plant her feet on the dashboard and make herself come.

 _Curse you, Logan_.

The object of her ire returned, brandishing a card key. Opening her door, he undid her seatbelt, and righted her dress. "I can't wait to fuck you, Veronica; to bury myself deep inside your beautiful cunt." His words shot right to her core, making her wetter.

On unsteady legs, she climbed out of the car, and he picked her up, kicking the door closed. Instead of carrying her through the lobby, he used the keycard to access the pool area and the side entrance. He strode down the hall to their room and kissed her while he inserted the key.

There was no waiting. With his foot, he closed the door behind them, and deposited her on the edge of the bed, dropping to his knees. Veronica spread her legs and he pushed his face between her thighs. He licked over her clit, circling it with his tongue, and lightly started to suck.

His tongue was everywhere, teasing and tasting her. He swirled it around her clit and dragged it lower, thrusting it inside her. In and out, lapping at her. Veronica's legs started to tremble. Toes curling in her boots. She was so close. Logan slid his tongue out and over her, slamming two fingers into her. Bucking her hips off the mattress, she pushed into his hand, taking him deeper.

"You're so fucking hot." He added a third finger, pumping them and crooking them forward, stroking her. "I'm going to come just listening to you." Logan touched his tongue to her clit, setting off her orgasm. It rolled through her. Veronica scratched at the mattress, grabbing fistfuls of sheet as her body convulsed around his hand.

Logan rocked back on his heels to watch her through hooded eyes. When her body stilled, he slowly lowered the zippers on her boots and pulled them off, tossing them away. He kissed her thigh and stood. With one hand, he yanked his shirt over his head, and with the other he unsnapped his jeans.

Licking her lips, Veronica rolled her head to the side for a better view. He toed off his sneakers and shucked his jeans and boxer briefs. Grabbing her hips, fingers digging into her bones, he lifted her ass from the bed, and slammed into her.

Rough and wild, he held her still while he pounded into her. Veronica's stomach quivered. He was beautiful like this. Out-of-control with lust and the need to have her. It made her feel powerful. Wanton. Sexy.  _Possessive_.

He orgasmed, coming deep inside her, and then collapsed on the bed. Veronica curled around him. Logan kissed her shoulder, running his hands over her skin. After sex was his most vulnerable time. The need to touch and cuddle, reassuring himself that she was still here and not going anywhere, sometimes overwhelmed him.

She'd never realized how much it had hurt him-back in college-when they'd have sex and she'd run off because of a case, or to sneak home, or just because the feelings were too strong. Veronica kissed along his jaw, burying her fingers in his hair and lightly scratching at his scalp. "I love you."

Smiling, he kissed her nose. "I love you, too."

She scrunched her nose at him. "We forgot the condom again."

"Shit." He rubbed circles in the small of her back, planting kisses in her hair. "I'm sorry, Veronica."

"It wouldn't be the most terrible thing in the world," she said with a shrug. "Maybe we could…"  _Have a boy_ , was what she almost said. Shame burned through her and she buried her face in his chest. She couldn't replace Tyler by giving him a son. "Logan, I…"  _Come on, Veronica. Put on your big girl pants and tell him what you did_.

"Changed your mind and want another baby or two? I'm in." He rolled on top of her, pinning her to the mattress. "In fact, I'd be willing to try in… ten minutes?" Rising up on his elbows, his gaze roamed her face and over her breasts. "Maybe five."

She lightly punched his shoulder. "You're insatiable."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Wrapping his arms around her waist, he flopped onto his back, taking her with him. "I'll even let you be on top."

"Let me?"

Widening his eyes, he flashed her his most guileless smile as if his intentions were completely innocent. "Unless you don't want to? I'm easy - top, bottom, standing, sitting."

"Insatiable  _and_  incorrigible." And she was allowing herself to be distracted. Resting her head on his chest, she sighed. "I went to see Agent Townsend—"

"Talking about murder kills the mood. It's almost as bad as bringing up your  _dad_." He faux-shuddered. "But since we're on the subject…" There was a long pause and then he asked, "Do you think Pam had anything to do with Karen's murder?"

Putting her palms on his chest, she pushed herself up to see his face. "Do you?" she asked, incredulous.

"No, of course not." Absolute, unshakable faith. Veronica almost wished he'd be a little uncertain, hesitant. He'd been more reluctant to declare  _his sister_  innocent when Trina had stood accused of murder.

"But you're afraid I think she's guilty?" There was an expectant lift to his eyebrows while he waited for her to answer her own question. "Well, I don't," she said, flatly, rolling out of bed. Locating her boots, she sat in one of the chairs to put them on.

"Where are you going?"

"I need my bag from the car. This" —she waved a hand over her outfit— "was for you; I'm not going to Shenanigans dressed like this."

A deep frown marred his brow. He was probably trying to figure out where he went wrong. Why her mood had changed from wanton sex kitten to ice princess. Veronica couldn't help him- she didn't know. He swung his legs off the bed. "I'll go get it."

"No, you should shower." She shook out his jeans in search of the room key. "Pam will be here to pick you up soon." Unused condoms spilled onto the floor along with the key. She scooped them up, sticking the key in her cleavage, and tossing the four condoms on the bed. "Optimistic much?"

"Hopeful." Was his word, dejected was how he looked. She couldn't leave him like this.

Crossing to the bed, she stood in between his knees. "Hey, I'm only going to the parking lot, not Siberia. I'll be back in like two minutes." She tugged the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling his head back to kiss him. Falling into him, she toppled them both onto the mattress.

His hands traveled up her thighs. "So what you're saying is" —he touched his lips to hers— "that you're going to come right back and" —he kissed her bottom lip, gently nibbled— "join me in the shower?"

Showers and hotel rooms - the last bastions of uninterrupted-by-children marital sex. She shook her head. "But you know… this isn't a short-stay motel and checkout time is what? Probably eleven? Twelve?"

"Noon," he confirmed.

"And Wallace doesn't need to leave for school until seven." Reaching across the mattress, she patted the bed in search of the condoms. Her fingers closed around them. "What say, we come back here after our shift and" —she flapped the condoms in his line of sight— "work our way through these?"

"You have the best ideas."

"Remember you said that next time I ask you to build my garden bed." She kissed her way over his chest and down his stomach, backing off the mattress.

Sitting up, he put his hands on her hips, preventing her from leaving. "The only beds I'm interested in are for sleeping and sex."

"Who said we can't have sex in the garden?"

His eyebrows bobbed. "You want to get dirty while we get dirrty?"

"Sure, why not? I might even let you hose me down."

Groaning, he buried his face in her stomach. "I love you, Veronica Mars."

"I know." She kissed the top of his head. "Now go hit the showers, Lieutenant."

He dropped his arms, releasing her. "Is a yes ma'am sufficient, or do you want me to salute you?"

Veronica's gaze fell to his lap. "I think you already  _are_  saluting me."

Grabbing a pillow, he thwacked her ass with it, and fell back onto the tumbled sheets. "Wench."

Flipping her hair, she sashayed her way to the door, giving him a little extra sass in her step. His chuckle followed her into the hall.


End file.
